


A Month of Sundays—Part 2

by x_art



Category: Jericho (US 2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-08-13
Updated: 2010-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:10:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_art/pseuds/x_art





	A Month of Sundays—Part 2

Part 2

_________

 

Jake heard the voice first, garbled and distorted, as if he were under water. He couldn’t make out what it was saying, only that it was loud and angry. A hand grabbed his jaw and shook him and his head snapped back, hitting something hard. The pain cleared away the confusion and he hissed softly. 

Someone muttered, “Wake _up, _asshole,” then they were gone.

Jake opened his eyes. And squinted—a bright light was shining in his eyes and it was hard to see. Haloed shadows moved back and forth in front of the light until they crystallized into recognizable shapes. 

He was surrounded by a ring of trucks and their headlights shone directly on him, like a stage. The shadows were men, standing just beyond and between the reach of the lights. Music was blaring, a polka or waltz—like his parents used to dance to when he was really young.

He was sitting, tied to a tree with his arms wrapped backwards around the trunk and panic hit. He jerked his hands only to feel a fiery pain streak up his arms, across his shoulders and chest. He slumped forward and choked back a moan. He quickly catalogued the rest of his injuries: his legs were fine, his arms, other than the numbness, were the same. His head, however, felt like it was one big bruise—he must have hit it when they rolled or maybe one of the men did it for him. 

He couldn’t guess how long he’d been tied up. They’d passed the circle of dead people about noon and they must have driven at least another hour or two. So maybe he’d been out for two or three hours? But no, that couldn’t be right—the headlights made it hard to see, but he was pretty sure it was night, so make that three or four hours. It didn’t really matter, though. What mattered was that they’d taken his .45, his holster, his watch, and his jacket. The jacket, he remembered with an internal snarl, that had his badge and cell. He leaned forward to look for Cheung but he pulled too hard and had to stop, forced back by the pain again.

He didn’t get long to rest—a man strolled out of the shadows and crouched in front of him. He carried a rifle and he jabbed the butt into Jake’s thigh and shouted into the dark, “Hey, Tucker, this one’s awake.” He waved the rifle a few times, then turned back. He stared at Jake and Jake stared at him.

He was older than Jake by maybe a few years. His hair was down to his shoulders and he was pale and heavy under all the dirt. His clothes, however, were new; his boots were still glossy and he was wearing a clean plaid shirt with a shiny bolo tie. When he leaned over, Jake could see the store tag still attached to the back of his shirt and he didn’t have to be a brain surgeon to know why a man in the middle of nowhere, in the aftermath of a post-nuclear attack, had new clothes—he’d either stolen them or taken them. He sure as hell didn’t order them from Sears.

Another figure loomed out of the night with the other men following. From what Jake could see they were different ages, but they all looked the same; all white, all dirty, and all wearing decent clothes. Except for the dirt, the creepy smiles, and the guns, they looked like any normal family just done with dinner at Shoney’s. 

Their very normality sent a shiver crawling up his spine and he reminded himself that even though the people in front of him looked like something out of _Deliverence_, they were human. They knew fear, the same as he; they had wants, the same as he. If he kept his head, he could use those fears and wants against them. 

Provided they didn’t actually pull a _Deliverence _on him.

He cleared his throat. “Where’s the man I was with?” His voice was steady with no edge of panic, which was good. Too forceful or too weak could only incite them more.

“You mean the spy?” The man called Tucker stepped forward and grinned. He was carrying an electric lantern and he turned it off and set it down. “We hang spies in our country.” He gestured up and to the left.

With a neck that was suddenly stiff with apprehension, Jake shifted and slid until he could look up into the tree. It was the angle of the branch, he realized. It had kept him from seeing Cheung, hanging by his neck. Only, he wasn’t dead, Jake saw with relief. They’d strung him up, his shoulders dark with blood, but his hands were free and he was swaying back and forth, desperately hanging on, fighting gravity.

Jake didn’t like Cheung, he’d be the first to admit it. But seeing him up there, hanging like an animal sent a flash of white rage through his chest and he had to clench his jaw and his fists to stop himself from yelling, from kicking.

Tucker, though, had seen his non-reaction and he crouched down close. He was older than the first man, maybe about Gray’s age. He even looked a little like Gray, except for his dead eyes and Jake was reminded of a line from _Jaws, _something about a shark’s doll-like eyes. His mouth dried at the first taste of fear.

Tucker winked pleasantly. “See, we know he’s part of them Chinese that bombed our country.”

Jake didn’t even bother to correct him. It wouldn’t do any good—you don’t try to argue with the crazies. The best he could do was to negotiate. “Yeah,” he croaked, “he is. I was taking him to Cheyenne to stand trial.”

Tucker looked sideways at Jake and grinned. “You were?” He reached in his pocket and brought out a bundle of metal and leather. He held it up and grinned. ”Sheriff of the town of Jericho. Well, Sheriff, it looked to us like you were traveling together. He wasn’t bound and you didn’t have your gun on him, plus you had all that fuel. It looks to me like you trying to get back home. Which makes you a spy, too.”

“I’m a duly appointed—”

Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “Save your breath. I’ve been to Jericho, a long time ago, and you aren’t the sheriff. The sheriff is an old man, older than me. He didn’t treat me too nice, and anyway, there _is_ no law, not these days and specially not from Jericho. You and your friend are all on your own.”

“You don’t want to do this. The army—”

Which was a mistake. Tucker dropped his smile and lurched forward to grab Jake’s jaw. “The army can go fuck itself. They killed my son, my friends—we’ve seen what the army can do. Besides,” he shook Jake’s head, “this is a big country. By the time the army comes looking, _if _they come looking, you’ll be long dead, just like your friend.”

Jake tried again. “Then why aren’t I up there with him?” 

If he thought logic would win them over, he was wrong. Tucker let him go and glared at him like he was an idiot. “We don’t have enough rope. Your turn’ll come. Just as soon as your friend is done dying.” 

He stood up with a grunt and strolled over to stand under Cheung. He looked up and squinted. “I bet he’d last fifteen minutes. Bobby,” he nodded at the man who’d woken Jake up, “said nine. Merle said an hour because he’s a strong little fucker. Merle’s in the lead, so far.”

Jake didn’t know which one was Merle and he didn’t care. He needed to push the rage away. He needed to be cold and sharp and focused so he could get loose and stop these assholes before they killed Cheung. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing himself to _think._

His options were limited. His best bet would be when they finished with Cheung and came to get him. He’d have maybe a few seconds to get free once they untied his hands and that probably wouldn’t be enough if his arms were as numb as they felt. Running was the answer, but he’d only get his chance once Cheung was dead, so that plan was out…

Maybe if he promised them weapons or money, although that would probably be a bust—they were all armed and money didn’t mean that much anymore. Maybe if he—

A familiar buzz interrupted his frantic thoughts and he looked around. Bobby hesitated, then took a cell phone out of his pocket and opened it up. It was small and black with a chrome and rubber trim. Jake recognized it, for all he’d had it only a few days. He waited for Bobby to push the button, to hold it to his ear, then— “_Hey! Hawkins!_ Garden City!” He strained against the ropes and shouted again as Tucker ran over, “Gard—”

Tucker hit him across the mouth, then he turned to Bobby and snarled, “Give me that!” He grabbed the cell. “I told you not to answer it!” He brought it to his ear and listened intently, then clumsily pressed buttons in his haste to sever the connection.

He tossed the phone back to Bobby without looking and strode over to stare down at Jake. When he kicked, Jake was ready and Tucker’s boot only glanced the side of his thigh. It hurt, but not as much as it should have and that only made Tucker angrier.

He knelt and grabbed Jake’s throat with one hand, his hair with the other. “Now who would that be, hmm? More spies? They out there looking for you? Well, they’re out of luck.” He rammed Jake’s head into the tree and stood up. “Potter!” He turned to the crowd. “Potter! Get the spy down and make sure he’s alive when he hits the ground. We still have a bet to see to. This one,” he jerked a thumb in Jake’s direction, “goes in the back of Bobby’s truck. Keep ’em separated. Hurry!” He stalked off and disappeared between the trucks.

Bobby hurried forward, scurrying around the tree and suddenly Jake was free. His arms were too numb to catch himself and he fell sideways. He lay there with a mouthful of weeds and blood, waiting for his arms to start hurting. 

A few feet away, he heard a cry and then a muffled thump. Cheung must be down. Jake knew better than to try to use his arms yet, but he needed to see if Cheung was all right. He rolled over with a strangled grunt.

Bobby came to stand next to him. “The sheriff looks like a fish out of water,” he sniggered, waving a few of the other men to him as he bent and picked Jake up by the back of his shirt.

Jake caught his balance and licked the blood from his lip. All he wanted was to drop Bobby and pound away until his knuckles were raw, but he couldn’t even make a fist and anyway, he was surrounded. The men were watching, eagerly, avidly, just waiting for him to make a move. He remembered Rob again, back when he still thought of him as _Hawkins__, _and put up no resistance. He’d get his chance; he just needed to be patient.

Disappointed, Bobby jerked his hands behind him, bound him again, and dragged him over to a truck. He unfastened the gate and turned with a mean smile but Jake jumped onto the gate before Bobby could shove him.

Bobby huffed, but all he said was, “Lay down and stay layed down. If I see you popping your head up, I’ll pop it myself.” He stomped over to the passenger’s side and got in.

Quickly, before Bobby noticed, Jake craned his head, trying to take in as much as possible. There were four trucks filled with seven men and from what he could see, the license plates all read Kansas, which was good. It would be to his advantage if they were taken someplace within the state and not back over the border. He couldn’t see which truck Cheung was in—he’d probably be with Tucker, wherever _he _was.

He toyed with the idea of leaping out and running but immediately dismissed it. He wouldn’t make it far with his hands tied, and besides, they’d take it out on Cheung. 

And that was all the time he had—he heard a muffled, “_Hey!_” and a sharp rap—Bobby had caught him. He was staring, gesturing with his rifle. Jake lay down. 

The truck was empty except for a bundle of tarps and a single brick. He rolled over to the tarp, twisting this way and that until he was laying on it. It wasn’t much but it was thick enough to provide a little cushion and some relief for his aching arms. His hands were numb again and he concentrated on moving his fingers. This was the third time in a week that he’d been tied up and he was getting fucking sick of it.

He was wondering if the lack of circulaton would cause permanent damage when, with a sharp roar, the truck came to life and they began to move, jolting across the grassland until they reached something smooth and flat—a road. 

Jake frowned and stared up at the stars. Right after he and Cheung had gone around Garden City and gotten back on the highway, they had to take a detour—the road had been washed out and there was a small, impassable fissure cutting clean through the concrete. Cheung had muttered something about hick highways and turned off to drive maybe twenty or thirty feet through a dead wheat field to get around the breach.

Jake waited breathlessly for the convoy to stop and go off-road but they didn’t. They kept going fast, smooth, and straight.

Which meant that if they were still on 83, they weren’t heading back south. Which meant that if they were going north, they were heading towards Jericho.

It was an iffy theory and he tried not to hope too hard because there were too many other scenarios that could play out. They could be going to one of the many farms that were between Garden City and Jericho. They could have already gone south, past the detour Jake and Cheung had taken. 

But…

The road didn’t feel like a farm road—it wasn’t as smooth as asphalt, but it wasn’t dirt or gravel, either. And it wasn’t beat up—they didn’t slow down and they didn’t swerve. And, he realized, every eight seconds or so, the tires hit something that could only be a seam. So they were probably on concrete. Going fast. Hopefully north.

But to where? 

If it was Jake, if he knew someone was coming for him, he’d find a safe place to hide and reconnoiter, a place he knew like the back of his hand, a place that he could defend, but not get trapped in. And it wouldn’t be an isolated farm, it would be a spot with multiple hiding places, multiple exits.

A town would be his choice and on that thought he realized something else—the men didn’t _feel _like farmers—both Tucker and Bobby were soft and pale as if they’d spent too much time sitting behind a desk or in front of a TV. Which meant…

…nothing, really. Except, if the men were townies, the next town north of Garden City would be Scott City and if that were the case, then all the better.

Like he’d told Eric all those months ago, as he’d told Cheung just yesterday, he knew every back road within a two hundred mile radius of Jericho. And he’d been to Scott City enough times to know it fairly well. Not enough to navigate it blindly, but he remembered the general layout—they had a theater that was always closed for repairs and a diner off of Main that served the best tacos around.

Best of all, like all towns, Scott City had a couple areas that had seen better days and would give he and Cheung more than few places to hide. That was, if he managed to get the two of them away and if his kidnappers were going in the direction he hoped and not off to some farm to die with just Cheung for company.

The memory of the hog farm tried to intrude, but Jake pushed it away. This was no time to think about that—he needed to focus on the problem at hand.

He took a deep breath and made himself relax. He watched the sky for a while, trying to remember if the Great Dipper showed up in the summer or winter and which direction it traveled. He gave up after a few fruitless minutes. He’d been gone too long from Jericho and could no longer remember the seasonal rotation of the stars. But it was almost soothing, lying there, rocking with the motion of the truck. It reminded him of his daydream a few nights ago and he finally let his mind go to where it had been wanting to go ever since he’d woken up tied to a tree: _Hawkins._

He closed his eyes and pictured Rob’s face, that still expression he got when he was very angry or planning a little mayhem. Jake told himself he couldn’t hope for help from that direction. He was ninety-nine percent sure that the phone call had come from Rob, but that didn’t help any. Other than Rob now knew they were in trouble, of course.

He’d saved the day so many times, saved _Jake _so many times, but he wasn’t Superman; he was too far away, in the middle of something far more important. And if he’d finished delivering his message and was already in Jericho, well, how the hell would he find them?

The thought that Rob might be less than eighty or ninety miles away gave Jake a pang. It would be ironic to die so close to home, after all his brushes with death.

But, Jake thought, his father would say that wasn’t irony, that was life and since he wasn’t dead yet, there was no sense in planning for it.

The thought made him smile and he settled back and let the rough hum of the road lull him into a half-sleep as he watched the stars fly by overhead.

 

——————————

 

Chavez leaned into the cockpit. “Hawkins, are you sure about this? It’s kind of a crazy thing to do, even for you.” 

“What, are you scared?” Rob had to shout. The engines were revving and it was hard to hear.

“Of you flying a 340 in the dead of night?” Chavez yelled back. “Hell yeah, I’m scared. You haven’t piloted in years, right?”

Rob fastened his seatbelt and grinned. “Don’t make me go into the whole, bicycle-falling-off-getting-back-on thing, Chavez.” He had his hours and he’d kept up with the technology, but Chavez was right, he hadn’t piloted in years.

“This is a lot more complicated than a bicycle.” 

Chavez hated to fly, or rather, Rob amended silently, he hated to fly with inexperienced pilots. It had something to do with his first mission, a mission that had gone wrong, a mission that he’d always refused to talk about.

Still, Rob thought with a nasty grin, that didn’t call for hysterics. He’d have to remember to tell Jake and Cheung how freaked Chavez was—Jake would get a kick out of it and it would even their playing field a bit. “Put on your headset. And no, it’s not all that complicated. Besides, we could be stuck with a two-pilot plane, so I’d shut up if I were you.”

“Shit, you’re right. Oh well…” Chavez shook his head, and finished stowing the gear away, then sat down next to Rob. He strapped himself in, put on the headset, and got out his laptop.

Rob grinned again, mostly to himself. It _was_ a crazy thing to do. Boosting a car was one thing—boosting an eight million dollar, military-owned airplane, was something else.

Although it wasn’t really boosting, if anyone got technical. He had Charles’ permission to requisition military equipment and personnel. Only, it was supposed to be a spare Humvee and a single driver, not the Citation that had originally shuttled in the more important delegates and had been parked in the estate’s hanger, waiting to fly them back out. 

And he wasn’t supposed to have brought Chavez, either. Charles had been concerned that having them both gone would leave the committee floundering when they came to the Smith issue. Rob argued that they wouldn’t be gone that long, that everything he and Chavez knew had been uploaded to the committee’s database, but Charles was adamant. He’d ordered Chavez to stay in Columbus.

Rob would have followed the last order, but hadn’t counted on Chavez. His partner, he’d found, had no intention of being left behind to do, _‘The boring stuff that any asshole could do,_’ end quote. 

And that was all right by Rob. He wasn’t too worried about the flight. The Citation had the speed and fuel capacity they needed in case of a pursuit. And he wasn’t too worried about the landing; he’d use a highway, if it came to that.

The thing that he _was _worried about was what might happen once they arrived at their destination. If Jake and Cheung had been taken by locals, that was one thing; if they were taken by Ravenwood, well, that was an entirely different story. Because over the course of the four days, he’d heard from the other delegates about other Ravenwood abuses. Goetz was hardly an anomaly; he was one of the worst, but not by much and Rob wanted to be prepared, wanted someone at his side that he could count on to do what was needed.

And at the very least, Chavez would stop Rob from any unnecessary violence once they found Jake and Cheung. And that was a good thing, he thought as he familiarized himself with the instruments—he was on a slow simmer, banking all his rage and fury for a more appropriate time. But it would have to be released at some point and he could count on Chavez to hold him back if it got too much. “How’s it look?” he said without glancing up.

“The wind is at five knots,” Chavez muttered. He was trying to hack into what was left of the Columbus flight control. “I can’t quite… there,” he grinned, “no flights out within a fifty mile radius until twenty hundred. We’re good to go.”

Rob nodded and they quickly ran through their instrumentation check. It was another thing he wasn’t worried about. This was one of Charles’ private jets—his people would’ve made sure it was ready to go at a moment’s notice.

“You hit that second guy pretty hard—hope he’s all right,” Chavez said, still hunched over his laptop.

“He shouldn’t have gotten in my way,” Rob answered absently. Two guards had the bad luck of being in the hanger at the wrong time—Chavez had taken out the first, and Rob, the second.

“Well, it’s not like you gave him much opportunity to back down.”

Rob turned. “Are you seriously nagging me for not wasting time trying to sweet talk the guards into letting us go?”

“Man, I’m not doing anything.” Chavez closed his laptop and shoved it under his seat. “Just reminding you that this will be over soon, for good or bad, and Charles will be here, waiting for us when we get back.” 

Rob shook his head—what was done, was done. He effectively ended the conversation by pushing the controls forward. Smooth and steady, the plane rolled onto the tarmac. He pointed her nose towards the strip and began his takeoff.

They were airborne in less than two minutes and had reached cruising speed in fifteen. Rob keyed in the coordinates for the autopilot and checked the instruments one more time. Everything was as it should be.

“Glad that’s over with. Hey, how’re you planning on finding them, anyway?” Chavez said. “We just going to fly above Kansas and yell real loud?”

Rob reached behind his seat for his laptop. He gave it to Chavez and said, “Open it up.” 

Chavez popped the lid and turned it to Rob. 

He typed in the password and watched as the computer came to life. He found the folder marked, ‘J,’ then turned the computer back to Chavez. “See, I didn’t tell Jake this, but I was worried they might run into trouble, so I—” 

Chavez grinned broadly. “Bugged him.”

“His phone, to be exact.”

“GPS?”

“RFID.”

Chavez shook his head. “Bet he won’t be too happy when he learns you don’t trust him.”

“As long as he’s alive, I don’t care what he thinks,” Rob said, ignoring the look of amused disbelief that Chavez shot his way. “Can you find the receiver?”

Chavez tapped a few keys and peered at the screen, then said, “Bingo. Yeah, I’ve got it. What’s your range on this?”

Rob leaned over to see. The small window was blank, which was to be expected. “I boosted the chip with the battery, but it won’t go far, maybe 450 feet.” He didn’t add, _if we’re lucky. _He couldn’t let himself think that way.

Chavez frowned and Rob knew what he was thinking. 450 feet was nothing given all the terrain they had to cover. They might end up flying above Kansas, yelling out the window after all. 

“Okay, so what’s your plan? Get to their last coordinates and go by vehicle?”

“Yeah.”

“You have any idea how we’re going to _get _a vehicle?”

“No,” Rob said shortly. He tapped his thigh, thinking hard. Something had been bothering him ever since he’d made that call and he squinted, replaying the one-sided conversation. Jake had called out his name, he was sure of that, but he’d said something else, something about… “Chavez, see if there’s someplace in southern Kansas or northern Oklahoma called ‘Synchronicity’. Wherever it is, it’ll be on or near Route 83.”

Chavez frowned and began tapping with quick fingers. “Synchronicity? Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like anyplace in Kansas I’ve—” He paused and bent closer to the laptop. He barked out a laugh, then looked up at Rob. “Think it could be ‘_Garden City_?’”

“Let me see.” Rob turned the laptop around. Sure enough, in a direct route from Amarillo was the small town of Garden City, Kansas. “Yeah, okay, it was probably Garden City.” He shook his head—Chavez, was grinning so hard he was almost laughing. “Oh, stop. It was hard to hear and Jake was yelling, remember?”

“Yeah, old man, you keep telling yourself that, maybe one day you’ll believe it.” Chavez tapped a few more keys, then leaned back and folded his hands over his stomach, smiling primly. When Rob looked over, he raised an eyebrow.

“You just can’t wait to tell Cheung, can you?”

Chavez laughed out loud. “First thing out of my mouth, when we find him.”

Rob sighed. “Whatever. And,” he added, “our problems of locating them aren’t solved. Did Jake mean they were _in _Garden City, they were almost _to _Garden City, or they’d just _passed _Garden City?”

Chavez stopped grinning and rubbed his jaw. “Yeah, that’s a problem isn’t it? 

Rob tapped his thigh. “Okay, let’s look at it logically. We know that they were still in the Panhandle about twenty-four hours ago, right? And that means…” Rob entered the data in the plane’s GPS. “Garden City is roughly a hundred miles away.”

“Which would mean less than two hours travel time.”

“Doubling that for towns, detours, and road conditions. So, four, maybe five hours.”

“That means there could be as much as ten hours between when you called Jake and when he last called you.” Chavez raised his eyebrow. “What do _you_ think? You know him pretty well.”

“Jake,” Rob said slowly, “wouldn’t give us information that wasn’t concrete. He’d tell us what he knew, not what he guessed. So that means they were either in Garden City, or had just passed Garden City.”

“They could be heading in either direction, you know that right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Rob thought another long moment, then said, “Okay, so how about we fly twenty miles south of Garden City and then head north. We do a sweep up, then back. If we don’t find them, we’ll turn around and go back to Oklahoma and search along 83.”

Chavez answered with a grim nod and Rob knew what he was thinking—if they didn’t find Jake and Cheung on 83, the chances that they’d be found at all were slim to none. He shrugged off the dark thought and entered the new flight data into the computer.

Chavez nodded as he watched, then said, “Hey, did you call Beck?”

“Yeah, while you were busy stealing supplies.”

“What did he say?” 

“He didn’t give me details, but it sounds like something’s going on. They’re short-handed. He said he’d tell Jake’s brother and see if anyone in Jericho could mount a search party.”

“Shit.” 

Rob shrugged. “Yeah, shit.” He hadn’t been counting on Beck, but it would’ve been nice, knowing that on-ground back-up was there if they needed it. “You know,” he dug out his phone and tossed it to Chavez, “Call Beck, see if you can get Eric Green’s number. Then call Eric and pass on the intel on Jake’s possible location.”

Chavez nodded and dialed. The conversation entailed a lot of waiting and monosyllabic replies on Chavez’ part, and when he hung up, he shook his head in frustration. “He says that he tried Eric and couldn't get through. The cell was out of range. Then he tried the bar and got hold of someone named Mary and she said Eric’s already left.”

“Left to go where?” Rob snapped. “He doesn’t even know where _to_ go.”

“Yeah, that’s what Beck said. He’s pissed. He said he's going to try to reach Eric on his cell, but…” Chavez shrugged resignedly.

“Goddamn those Green boys,” Rob muttered under his breath. It seemed like Eric, good old solid Eric, had decided to play Jake for once and jump the fucking gun.

But he couldn’t really blame him—he’d done the same thing, sort of. But now, faced with the difficulties of his goal, he was beginning to regret his own decision to plow ahead and ignore protocol and good sense. Perhaps this one time it would have been better to wait until he could gather more help. Maybe fly to Jericho first, then convoy down with the proper amount of men and weapons…

No, he thought as he squeezed the controls unnecessarily hard. He didn’t know how he knew it, but his gut told him that Jake and Cheung needed help _now. _Not ten hours from now or even five.

“Anyway,” Chavez continued, “Beck will contact us if he manages to get in touch with Eric.”

“Damnit,” Rob murmured. At this rate they were going to have half a dozen men running around southern Kansas looking for Jake. Probably looking in all the wrong places, probably getting themselves killed.

But worrying wouldn’t solve anything, so he settled back in the seat and concentrated on the situation at hand. They should be just south of St. Louis in a few minutes. He’d wanted to see what was left of the city, as much as he could by night, but Chavez had reminded him that the surrounding cities might still be on high alert and who knew what kinds of weapons those cities had? No sense in getting shot down, not at this stage of the game.

So, they’d skirt around St. Louis first, then Wichita about an hour later. Then onto Garden City and from there, only time would tell.

 

——————————

 

The crunch and grind of a complaining gearshift woke Jake out of his doze. It was still night and they were still driving, only the truck had slowed down and began to make a series of turns. As he pitched back and forth, he tried to figure the time. He couldn’t be sure, but it felt like they’d traveled for maybe an hour or so, maybe longer. If he had his watch, he wouldn’t be guessing. 

He craned his head again and found Bobby eyeing him with a warning glare. He lay back, but managed to catch a glimpse of a downed power line—they were close to civilization, at least. Maybe near someplace or some_thing _that Bobby didn’t want him to see. Or maybe he just didn’t want Jake jumping out and running for cover.

He didn’t get a chance to wonder. With another jolt, the truck came to a sudden stop and Jake slammed into the back of the cab. He lay there waiting for the pain to fade as he heard the sounds of car doors opening and closing. He pushed and twisted until he could sit up. Bobby said something to the driver, then got out and came to the side of the truck. He pointed his rifle at Jake and grinned, “Bet you hoped we was gonna drive forever, huh?” 

Jake didn’t bother answering. Bobby scowled and grabbed his shoulder, dragging him upright to a kneeling position, and taking a better grip, he hauled Jake over the side.

Jake landed hard, but made himself get up quickly, wanting to look around in case Bobby blindfolded him. What he saw was almost enough to make him fall over again.

They _were _in Scott City. Or rather, the ruins of Scott City, because just like Rogue River, the town was dead. Burned-out cars and junk littered the streets. The theater, the one that had always been closed every time Jake had visited, was a hollowed-out shell, the marquee gone, the lobby burned to a cinder. 

A sudden grief choked his throat. When they were young, he, Emily, and Chris used to sneak out to Scott City because Jonah had a friend in one of the bars who was sweet on Emily. He’d give her a free beer on the sly and she’d always share it with them. In hindsight, it was kind of creepy, but at the time it had been adventurous and fun—they’d had some good times here. And the chances were that, without some serious financial aid, the town would never be the same. 

And his Jericho could’ve been just as lost, just as dead if the people hadn’t been so stubborn, so resourceful. And so lucky, because most towns weren’t fortunate enough to have a Johnston Green or a Robert Hawkins. And the others—his mom, Eric, Heather, Stanley, Bill, even Dale and Jonah—they were what kept the town from becoming another Rogue River, another Scott City. 

And if J&amp;R or the Mitch Caffertys of the world had their way, the Jericho he knew could still fall and he couldn’t bear it. 

He swallowed hard and looked around again. The men had gathered to stand in a group, their rifles resting on their shoulders or hips. Smiling and laughing like they were at a party and his grief morphed into resolve and he made a vow—he was going to get out of this alive if only to make sure Jericho was safe from people like his kidnappers.

“You been here before?” Bobby had been watching Jake and he poked him with his rifle. Jake shook his head. A few of the men wandered over to one of the trucks and they leaned over the bed, looking in. Cheung had to be there and Jake said a brief, fervent prayer that he was all right.

Bobby poked him again. “Well then, you’re in for a treat. But you gotta come this way first.” He grabbed the back of Jake’s jacket and dragged him to stand in front of a red-brick building that stood in the middle of the block. Jake tried to remember what the place had been used for—he thought it was an insurance office or something like that. He couldn’t remember, but he hadn’t been interested in anything other than bars, back then.

The building was as damaged as the theater—it had been graffitied so many times that the name of the building was obliterated. The window glass was gone and the front door swung idly on one hinge. He stepped closer and squinted into the dark. He couldn’t see much other than a long, narrow stairway.

Bobby shoved him over the threshold. “Don’t be shy. Go on, get on up those stairs.” 

He edged in, peering up into the gloom so intently that he missed his footing and stumbled forward to fall against the steps. He’d twisted as he fell, but he couldn’t help the small groan that escaped when he landed on his side. Bobby laughed. 

Jake ignored him, got up, and started climbing. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he thought he could make a break for it and he readied himself only to be stopped by a sharp creak and a weak gleam of light. Tucker was already at the top, waiting for them. He was carrying the lantern, and its strong yellow glow hit the underside of his jaw, making him look like something from a horror movie. He greeted Jake with the jerk of his rifle and disappeared back into the room.

By the time Jake and Bobby reached the landing and got inside, Tucker was sitting behind a desk, his feet propped up, his hands crossed over his belly. He waved his arm in odd, ‘take a look,’ gesture and Jake obligingly turned around.

He was in a large room that would have felt bigger if it wasn’t filled with desks and lined on two sides with smaller rooms. Behind Tucker, at the very end of the room, was a much larger office that probably looked out over Main Street. At one point, the rooms had interior windows, but were now shattered, glass everywhere.

He turned again—all around were piles of office equipment: chairs, broken lamps, old-fashioned electric typewriters, a couple cracked computer monitors, and beyond, in the shadowy corner of the room, stood a big standing press. 

So this was the newspaper building. He didn’t remember it, didn’t even remember _seeing _a newspaper. Which wasn’t a big surprise—he’d never come to Scott City for the news.

Confused, he turned to Tucker and shrugged. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the hell they were doing here.

Tucker burst out laughing. “Boy, you don’t think we’re gonna make you write an editorial, do you?” He hooted again and leaned back in his chair, making the wood squeak. He was still chuckling when two more men came in. 

One had Cheung over his shoulders, like a sack of feed, and he would’ve just dropped him in the threshold, but Tucker barked out, “Hey!” and signaled Bobby to go help. They carefully lay Cheung down in front of the door and went to sit on the desks behind Tucker. 

The final three men trailed in slowly. From this angle, Jake saw one of them pocket a flask before entering. It would be too much to hope that they’d all get drunk, but even if a few of them were drinking, that could be useful, later. 

As they were passing him, one of them, a short dark-haired man ‘accidentally’ stumbled into him. The other men laughed and Jake tightened his lips, saying nothing. Then he turned his attention to Cheung.

Who, if possible, looked worse than before. Even in the faint light Jake could see his face was puffy and horribly pale. The bandage around his neck was still on, but it was almost black with blood. He lay there, unnaturally still, and Jake’s heart sank. He needed Cheung to be at least partially mobile in order to get out.

“Nah,” Tucker continued, startling Jake, speaking as if they hadn’t been interrupted, “we don’t use this room for writing, we use it for something a little more fun.” He jerked his head towards the pile of typewriters and once again, dutifully, Jake turned.

And then frowned, because he couldn’t figure out what he was seeing. The lantern’s light didn’t reach very far and he couldn’t see much. The only thing he could make out was a dark rectangle on the far wall. When he got nearer, he thought it was a closet without a door and it wasn’t until he stood in front of it and felt the night air cool his face that he realized what it was—a door that opened for a pulley lift. He’d used his dad’s often enough—how else would you get heavy bales of hay and straw up to the lofts?

This one had been altered. Instead of the usual large pulley, a heavy rope was attached to the beam and that was it. Which was all that was needed, he thought grimly. He didn’t have to wonder if they’d hung anyone here before—the whole thing had the air of a ritual or ceremony, as if they’d performed it over and over.

And maybe that’s what happened to the rest of the town. Maybe they hadn’t left or been wiped out by the military or fallout—maybe Tucker and his gang had simply murdered them all. Which would mean a hell of a lot of people had died here…

The hairs on the back of Jake’s neck rose even as he scoffed at the idea—there was no way one small group of psychos could pull off anything of that scale. But, he reminded himself, it really didn’t matter—they were more than capable of killing just a few. 

He inched to the door and glanced down. He was looking out onto the alley and beyond that, farmland. There were a lot of boxes and trash below, but it was too far to jump. At least, if he didn’t want a broken ankle. He called out without looking over his shoulder, “Why not just bring him here in the first place?”

Tucker shouted back, “Because we were gonna leave him up there for the crows, that’s why. And because we wanted a pretty picture so everyone in the country knew what we do to spies.”

Jake turned around, caught by the odd comment. Tucker was holding up a video camera and he shook it, waiting for Jake’s reaction.

Which he didn’t give, but only just, because, _fuck_, they were going to film the whole thing and send it to a news station or maybe find a way to post it on YouTube. If YouTube was still running. 

He turned his back to the room as his stomach knotted up and his jaw worked. He told himself to keep cool because giving in to these grinning assholes was just what they were waiting for, and…

And he paused and took a deep breath. A stupid idea had just popped into his head. It wasn’t going to work, and he’d probably only get a few of them, but at least it would even up the odds. First thing, though, was to get them away from those desks and closer to the lift door.

Ignoring Tucker, keeping his head down to hide any expression, Jake stumbled towards Cheung. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to show—maybe grief that a friend was going to die, or maybe just plain, old-fashioned fear. 

He made it to Cheung and stepped over him, turning his back to the main room again. And then he almost did a double take—Cheung had moved. He’d been on his side with his right arm tucked under his body, Jake was sure of it. He was still on his side, but his right arm was free.

Falling as if his knees were weak, Jake knelt and stared. His body blocked the light and he was sure no one else saw the slight droop of Cheung’s right eyelid.

He’d winked.

Hope bloomed in Jake’s chest and his plan twisted and re-shaped itself. If he could make this work it would be absurdly easy. That was, if he could make it work. Rocking back to his feet, he turned to look at the men scattered around the room.

Seven, which is what they started out with, and Jake and Cheung were between them and the door. It was now or never.

Dropping his head and shoulders, hoping to look as defeated as possible, Jake slid his right foot back until he touched Cheung’s leg. He’d meant it as a signal that Cheung would hopefully translate as, “_Get ready_.”

Instead, Cheung must have read it as, “_Get the fuck up as quick as you can_,” because he was on his feet, and even before the men had time to shout in surprise, he’d lunged for a chair and a lamp and jumped back, propelling Jake towards the door. Then they were out, backwards, and Cheung was slamming the door shut as Jake hit the wall, hard.

“Go!” Cheung yanked the electrical cord out of the lamp and quickly tied it to door knob and then through and around the chair back’s slats, using its length as a counter.

He tested it and then whipped around. “Jake, _go!” _

Jake went. He pounded down the stairs as best as he could, using the wall for balance. He was halfway down when Cheung caught up with him and grabbed him again. Pulling him back, doing something that hurt then one hand was free. The other was still bound, but Jake didn’t care—he jumped the last steps and was through the door and out into the night.

“Keys?” Jake hissed, ducking to the right as a shot rang out.

“No, don’t chance it, that won’t hold them for long,” Cheung whispered, his voice so cracked Jake could barely understand him.

Another shot rang out, then another, and Jake took off north, running down the dark sidewalk with Cheung at his heels, dodging debris and the uneven cement. They were almost to the end of the block when Cheung tripped, but he was up in a flash, angrily shaking off Jake’s helping hand. 

When they'd reached the corner, a barrage of shots broke out and Jake ducked again. He looked back at Cheung, hysterical laughter bubbling up. “Think they’re just going to shoot the door apart?” It had been such a fucked-up, bizarre night. One for the books, as Rob would say.

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Cheung wheezed. He was a mess—he was clutching his side and there was a thin trail of shiny blood on his temple that Jake hadn’t noticed before. They needed to find a hiding place and quick.

“Go right.” He leaned into Cheung, guiding him around the corner and down the side street, heading towards the back of the buildings. “We need to get off Main.” They reached the opposite corner and ran around it. “There’s an old grain elevator just up ahead, about two blocks away. A junkyard back south and a lumberyard across the street and up. All would be good. What d’you think?”

“Closest?”

“The grain elevator.” At least it had been five years ago. Maybe it had been demolished or collapsed under its own weight.

Cheung nodded and choked out, “Elevator. Darker. More shelter, we can hide in the ducts, if needed.”

Jake didn’t ask Cheung how he knew about grain elevators—Rob had trained that kind of surprise out of him months ago. He just shook his head and led the way as they ran down the alley behind Main Street.

The grain elevator, Jake was relieved to see, was still standing. “There it is.” It was a giant, misshapen silhouette of corroded metal surrounded by pipes and extensions, gleaming dully in the moonlight. As he’d remembered, it stood isolated from the rest of the town, separated by a distance of two city blocks. And hell, he hated having to cross that empty space, but there was no other way.

They’d only made it halfway when Cheung tripped and gasped, “_Shit_. Wait—”

“Yeah, here—” Jake put his arm around Cheung’s waist and half carried him until they were stopped by the chain-link fence that surrounded the property. The yard inside was also as he remembered except there was a lot more junk—pipes and barrels and what looked like the carcass of a loader. They’d have to be careful, running through all that. 

He frowned, trying to remember how he and Emily used to get in and where it would be best to hide. 

“We gotta—” Cheung whispered.

“Yeah, give me a second.” The door directly across led to a small group of offices and storage rooms that had no access to the main building,  They’d be sitting ducks if they were caught there.

The east entrance, however— “C’mon.” He turned. Cheung eyes were squeezed shut and he didn’t answer and that scared Jake enough that he started babbling as he reached for Cheung’s waist again and tugged him around the perimeter. “I used to come here with Emily, a long time ago. It was closed, even then. Emily hated it because of the bats, but it’s pretty cool inside. That three story building? It’s got these little rooms upstairs, like a maze. We’ll have to watch out for rats, but other than—”

“Hey?” Cheung mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah.” Jake cracked a grin. “Okay.”

The perimeter was longer than he remembered and he was sweating by the time they made it to the far side. The tear in the chain link that he and Em had always used was repaired, but he found another larger rip, further down behind a waist-high bush. He pushed Cheung through first, then crawled after. 

They navigated the yard quickly and it was only a bare minute before they reached the tall metal door. It was open, but stuck, the hinges rusted tight. Jake let go of Cheung long enough to tug it open another inch and they were able to squeeze through.

The interior was pitch black and he paused to let his eyes adjust. When he was able to see, he realized that they were in the rear of the building—right in front of them was the long staircase that ran up to the third floor. To the right and under the stairs was the entrance to the main part of the structure.

He took a long breath and let it out slowly. Cheung did the same, only his breath was shallow and fast, almost panting, and it didn’t sound like he was going to be able to stop.

“Here…” Jake put his arm around Cheung’s waist again and guided him to the right. “I think there’s a room over here. We can rest there.”

Cheung dug in his heels and whispered, “We should get further in.”

Jake whispered back, “Maybe you should—”

“No, Jake. Not sure I’ll be able to move again. Once I stop.”

Jake opened his mouth to argue and then closed it again. It was the first time Cheung had said his name without dislike or anger. It was a little weird. 

Before he could stop himself, he asked, “What’s your name? You’re first name, I mean.”

Even in the faint light, he could see Cheung’s mouth drop open in surprise. He hesitated, then said, “Lawrence. Give me your arm.” 

Jake frowned and raised his arm. “_Larry_ Cheung?” 

“It’s _Lawrence_.” Cheung carefully cut the remaining piece of rope from Jake’s wrist, then muttered, “And, yeah, it’s not very Korean, is it?”

“Not really. Where’d you get the glass?”

“From the lamp. Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“We gotta go.”

Jake shook his head and smiled, “Yeah, okay. The stairway goes up to those rooms I was talking about.” 

“Can we make it in the dark?”

“Yeah, there are a lot of windows up there. At least, there were when Emily and I were here last.” He didn’t tell Cheung that had been sixteen years ago. “We’ll just have to watch out for rotten floorboards.” 

He helped Cheung to the foot of the stairway and then pushed him in front. “You go first, that way I can catch you if you fall.” 

Cheung climbed a few steps, then looked over his shoulder. “Hey Jake?” 

“Yeah?” 

“We’re not bonding are we?”

Jake smirked and said emphatically, “_Hell, _no.”

Cheung smiled, Jake shook his head, and they began the long haul up.

 

——————————

 

Flying over post-nuked Kansas was more than a little eerie, Rob decided. The state had never shone brightly at night, not like other states that had larger conglomerates of people. But it had always had the normal small bright dots that denoted cities and towns.

Now it was mostly blank, as if a large someone had swept a hand across the landscape and knocked the lights out. Wichita was the brightest, but not by much. The rest of the state was just dark.

Which wasn’t good, because they were less than one hundred and twenty miles from their destination and they were going to have to land soon. And, they were still undecided where to put down, and the running argument was getting heated.

“Hawkins,” Chavez said, “we hit a couple power lines and there will be no point to this whole trip because we’ll be dead.”

“And if we take the trouble to find a nice safe airport, we could be too late. Don’t you trust me?”

“Not really, no.” And Chavez wasn’t kidding, not this time. He leaned forward and pointed his finger at Rob. “You’ve lost your perspective when it comes to Jake.”

“No. I haven’t,” Rob answered, just as quiet, just as serious. “I know what the stakes are and I know what will happen if I miscalculate or misjudge. What you need to remember is if it wasn’t for Jake, we’d be in the middle of a civil war, and quite possibly dead. We need to do this. _You_ need to do this. You owe him.”

Chavez stilled, then took a deep breath and sat back. “Yeah,” he finally admitted, “I do.”

Rob shrugged. “Besides arguing doesn’t change the fact that we don’t have a lot of options, not this late in the day.”

“So we’re going to try for the highway?”

“Yes.” The indicator light on the plane’s GPS system lit up—they were within a hundred miles of their target. 

“Christ.”

Rob chuckled dryly. “Your faith in me is touching.” 

“As long as you don’t touch me back, we’ll be fine.”

“Please tell me I’m not going to be hearing those kinds of jokes the rest of the trip,” Rob said absently.

Whatever Chavez might have answered was forgotten as the navigation system verbally announced they were within eighty miles of Garden City and the plane tipped and dropped in preparation of their final turn. “Here we go,” Rob murmured. And then they were over a small town that was there then gone.

Chavez peered out his window. “I take it that was Garden City?”

“Yes.”

“So now we’re just going to slow down and fly over the highway like a UFO?”

Rob didn’t answer. He’d taken the plane off autopilot and was busy flying. He glanced at the receiver, still on Chavez’ lap. It hadn’t picked up anything yet, but they were at four hundred and eighty feet. If they had to, he’d drop further and pray that nothing got in their way.

But he wasn’t too worried about it—the skies were clear and the moon was bright enough to give him a couple miles visibility. Even at this altitude, he could make out the ribbon of deeper gray that was the highway. He brought the plane around in a wide arc and pointed the nose north.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Chavez muttered under his breath.

Rob grinned. The area was clear and he dropped another fifty feet—they were well within Jake’s RFID range. If, of course, they were even in the remote vicinity of the cell, and just the thought made Rob’s gut tighten as his doubts came crawling back. What if he was wrong, what if Jake was in Oklahoma after all, and not—

“Hawkins?”

Rob blinked. “Yeah?”

Chavez was bent over the laptop. “Don’t get your hopes up, but I think I’ve found something.” He pointed to the receiver window that showed a slowly blinking dot.

“Where is…” Rob leaned over. “Scott City?” He sat back and looked out the cockpit window. He couldn’t see anything, but they’d already flown over the town. “I’m taking us down.”

He took the plane in a tight arc, south again, this time dropping until he felt like he was running her down the highway. And there it was, a town so small that they’d passed it without seeing it. Jake had to be down there, somewhere.

Sure enough, just as they got within range of the town, the signal beat strong a few times, then was gone again.

Rob looked at Chavez and Chavez looked at Rob.

“We going in?” Chavez asked with a growing grin.

“Yeah.”

“We using the highway?”

Rob circled the plane around for the final approach. ”Of course.” 

“Okay, then.” Chavez smiled, almost maniacally.

“You’re such a danger junkie,” Rob said under his breath as he began his pre-landing checks. The computer had already done it for him, but this was the part that could get them killed so it was better to be safe, not sorry. “You can stop grinning now.”

Chavez chuckled. “Are you kidding? We’re finally getting to the good part.”

Rob didn’t have to ask what the ‘good part’ was. Chavez was never happier than when he was hunting bad guys or knocking heads together.

The landing, when it finally came, was absurdly easy. There was one moment that took a few days off Rob’s life when the highway dropped and Rob couldn’t respond fast enough, but he reacted quickly and managed to avoid a crash.

He taxied north for a few minutes until he came to an intersection with a gravel road. “Hold on,” he said to Chavez, and delicately maneuvered the plane off the highway.

“Man, you are taking such a big chance. You better hope some yokel doesn’t decide to take her for a joyride”

“Those ‘yokels’ won’t know what to do with her or how to break the code. I hope.” He powered down the engines. “At worst, they’ll strip what they can. That is, if we give them time to do it. Which we won’t, right?”

“Not if I can help it,” Chavez growled as he unfastened his seat belt and disappeared into the rear of the plane to gear up.

Rob found his pack and got out his binoculars. He turned off the cockpit lights to give him better contrast and scanned the area. The surrounding countryside was grey-dark, no illumination anywhere. If any of the mission could be called ideal, this would be it. A quiet night with a crescent moon, but no other light to give them away. The only worry? Was it too dark to avoid any missteps or booby traps?

He put away the binoculars and shut down the laptop.

“Anything?” Chavez called out.

“Not that I can see,” Rob called back. He stowed the equipment and got up. Or tried to; he was stiff and sore from tension and from sitting in one place for too long. Maybe Chavez was right—maybe he was getting too old for this, maybe it was time to think about retirement.

But that was a consideration for another time, another place, so he straightened and stretched until his muscles warmed up and eased their complaining.

When he got to the back, Chavez had already finished with his body armor. He tossed Rob the big duffle bag that held their equipment and sat down to organize the GPS equipment.

Rob opened the bag and began the quiet ritual of preparing for combat. 

He worked from bottom up—ankle holster, thigh holsters, knife sheaths, flak jacket, jacket, and rifle harness. And, as always, putting on his gear focused his mind and his extraneous cares dropped away—the mess with Darcy, the trouble he was going to be in when he got back to Columbus, what he was going to do about Smith—they were _gone_ and the only thing that mattered was the mission.

“You want a rifle?” Chavez asked as he unzipped the cases. 

Chavez had packed heavy and Rob had his choice of weapons. Along with his own Glock, he picked another .45, two field knives and two C3 incendiary bombs. “Yeah, we’re probably carrying too much, but with these people, you never know. We could be walking into a survivalist camp or just a bunch of locals.” 

Chavez handed Rob the rifle case. “Or a Ravenwood unit gone rogue,” 

“Let’s hope not,” Rob muttered in return as he inventoried his equipment to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He could handle a Ravenwood unit on his own, but not if they were holding Jake and Cheung hostage. Because he’d lied to Chavez not an hour ago—his perspective, his dispassion, was almost non-existent when it came to Jake. 

He shrugged away the uneasy thought and picked up the rifle and went to join Chavez, already standing by the door. 

Rob held out his hand. Chavez took it with a wide grin and a crushing grip, and Rob was reminded of why he enjoyed working with him in the field: in downtime he could be a real pain in the ass, but when you got in a sticky situation, there was no one better. 

Then he flicked off the overhead light and punched in the code to release the door.

With a muffled thump and hiss, the seal gave way and clean Kansas air blew through. Rob didn’t bother with the stairs—he jumped and was on the ground with Chavez following. Chavez took point a few feet away while Rob closed the door and secured the plane. When he was done, he looked around.

Out of the plane, the dark was manageable—he could clearly see the road and the surrounding countryside. From this angle, Scott City was invisible, but Rob knew it was there, a little over two miles away. He cuffed Chavez on the shoulder and they set off at a comfortable pace, neither running nor strolling. He figured it would take roughly fifteen minutes to get within sight of the town.

Sure enough, right at the fourteen-minute mark they crested a small rise and found the town right before them. Rob got out his binoculars and scanned once more. As he’d expected, there were no lights, no movement. The town was dark and dead as if the residents had deserted it long ago. It looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie, and with a start, Rob remembered it was. It would be perfect, he thought, if a tumbleweed blew by, just at that moment.

But nothing stirred and he gave Chavez a thumb’s up and he tucked the binoculars away. They walked on, this time slowly, waiting for anything to come roaring out of the dark.

The first structure they came to was an old mill that looked like it had been shut down a hundred years ago, and beyond that, the town itself. Chavez jerked his head and they scuttled across the open space and took shelter in the shadows of the first building. 

While Chavez surveyed the area, Rob crouched behind Chavez and turned on the GPS receiver. The signal blinked weakly but it was there, maybe four hundred feet to the south. He nudged Chavez and whispered, “Anything?”

“Looks good.”

Rob peered around his shoulder to get his bearings. The town was like every other small American town he’d ever visited—a central business district with a broad avenue that ran straight through from end to end.

To his left, behind the building they were using as cover, ran a street that wasn’t really a street at all—just a wide alley that backed up to the countryside. On his right, on the other side of the main street, there was a deserted residential area and the bones of a few commercial structures. Further down, towards the south end of town was a tall brick building with what looked like a fountain in front—probably the town hall.

Rob checked the GPS; the signal said straight ahead. He  frowned and surveyed the street again. It was fairly open—it would be safer if they came up behind, getting as close as they could, then venture back onto Main.

Rob signaled to Chavez and led the way left, back around the buildings. They got to the second block and waited for movement, then swiftly ran across the broken asphalt up to the nearest building. They did the same two more times until they were behind the block where the signal shone bright and steady.

Rob surveyed the alley—it was a mess, as if someone had used it for their own personal junkyard. There were boxes, chairs, lamps, even a couple computers that were almost smashed beyond recognition. Each unit had a back door, but they were boarded up and blocked by so much crap it would take some work to clear enough space to even get to the doors. And, he realized suddenly, they weren’t even sure if the building Jake was in even _had _a back door.

So they could go through the back and take a chance they were at the right door, making a hell of a lot of noise in the meantime, or they could just go around front.

He nudged Chavez’ arm and jerked his head to the doors. Chavez shook his head, then gestured to the street.

Rob smiled and they ran. The building on the corner was one of those old-fashioned designs from the twenties that had a recessed doorway and a pillar that held up the second story. Rob slid into its shadows and checked the GPS one more time. The signal was still bright green and so steady, he was surprised they weren’t on top of Jake right now.

He looked around the corner of the building. The block was like all the others except—and Rob’s heart jerked—there was a parked truck in the street, about a hundred feet away. It was a good sign. More vehicles meant more problems, but no vehicles meant the kidnappers might have already left because Jake and Cheung were already dead.

He was just turning to signal the news to Chavez when a shadow detached itself from the building in front of him, not eight feet away. It was a man, tall, slim, and he carried a rifle.

Rob tapped Chavez’ shoulder and made room so he could see as well. They waited to make sure the man was alone, then Rob gestured to Chavez, _I’ve got him_. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and held up his hand. On the count of one, two, three, they rushed around the corner. 

It was over almost before it started—Rob clapped his hand over the man’s mouth and dragged him back while Chavez wrenched the gun away.

The man Rob held was young and he fought hard, getting in a few good jabs before Rob managed to quiet him by simply pinching his auricular nerve. The man moaned and his legs went out, carrying Rob down with him. 

Speaking directly into his ear, Rob whispered, “Okay, now you don’t want to die and I don’t want to kill you, but I will. I’m going to remove my hand. If you yell, my friend will shoot you in the head, is that understood?”

The man nodded vigorously and Rob slowly removed his hand. 

Taking a gasping breath, the man twisted around as he whispered in disbelief, “Mr. Hawkins?”

 

——————————

 

“Jake, will you please sit down?” Cheung whispered again. He was bundled up under a couple filthy seed bags that Jake had scavenged from one of the storerooms below and he looked like a bum. Or a pile of trash.

Jake stopped pacing and shrugged, “Yeah, all right.” He sat down next to Cheung, folded his cold arms around his chest, and knocked his head once against the wall. He was careful not to hit too hard because the boards were dry and splintered. He’d made the mistake, earlier on, of using his fist on one of the walls and he still had the splinters in his knuckles.

He’d tried to pry one out with his fingernails but it was too small. He’d have to wait until he had tweezers. And when he could actually see what he was doing.

They’d ended up in one of the empty offices that Jake remembered and, as he’d told Cheung, there were windows that let in a little moonlight. Enough to see where they were going but not enough check the wound on Cheung’s head. It was still bleeding sluggishly and Jake was worried. He knew head wounds were supposed to bleed a lot, but they had to stop sometime, didn’t they?

Jake didn't remember Cheung getting hit; Cheung didn’t remember getting hit. He said he might have got it when they threw him in the bed of the truck, but he’d been in and out of it, so maybe it had happened earlier. Whenever, whatever, it had happened and Jake needed to get him water and to a hospital, and soon_. _

Because Cheung kept saying he was fine and then he’d fall asleep. It had happened three times. Jake had tried slapping him but was afraid to hit too hard because of his neck injury, so he’d resorted to pinching. Finally, when the pinching didn’t work, he started talking. He made it a monologue so Cheung wouldn’t have to answer and the talking had worked, for the most part. He’d talked about surface things, like his time at Embry-Riddle to meeting Goetz for the first time. He left out a lot—even with their changed situation, there was no way he was going to tell Cheung about the important things.

Like Saffa. Or his father, or Emily. Or Rob.

The monologue had worked except for one thing—yes, Cheung had managed to stay awake for almost two hours now, but all the talking made Jake wired and jumpy. So wired and jumpy that he was ready and willing to hunt Tucker down, just to see if he could steal a truck or anything that would get them out of here, _now_.

Cheung had shook his head _‘No’ _the two times Jake had suggested it.

Which was probably for the best since the last time Jake had heard the men, they hadn’t sounded like they were having fun.

He’d just gotten Cheung settled when he heard the first shouts and shots as the gang came looking for them. The shouts grew, then faded, then grew again; it was almost as if they were just running around and shouting at the top of their heads.

At least two had searched the building, but they didn’t stay long. When Jake had heard them outside trying to get in, he’d snuck to one of the catwalks and watched them as they wandered around knocking into things, yelling, ‘_We’re gonna get you fuckers,’ _and, ‘_We’re gonna hang the spy.’_

He figured all the stumbling was due to alcohol, and he’d thought about dropping down on one of them, just to try for the rifle he was carrying, then decided against it. They clearly didn’t think their prisoners were inside, and he didn’t want to tip off the others in case he screwed up.

He waited for them to leave, then waited some more in case they were outside, listening. Finally, after he was sure they were gone, he crept back to Cheung and spent the next hour manufacturing weapons. It was a bit pathetic, but neither of them had anything that could be used as a weapon. Jake still had his belt, but Cheung had been stripped of everything but shirt, pants, and shoes.

So Jake had gathered up three large, thick pieces of glass and, using the sleeves of his shirt, he delicately wrapped the fabric around the shards. He’d held one up to the light and thought that he could probably get a couple good jabs in before he shredded his palms. He’d snorted at the thought, but didn’t explain when Cheung raised an inquiring eyebrow.

When he was finished with the makeshift knives, he found a couple nails and a length of lumber that wasn’t too brittle. He set the nail by simply using the floor as a base and hitting the stick until it drove itself into the wood. It was primitive and wouldn’t do a lot of damage, but the head might be painful if he hit the right place with the right force.

Cheung watched with a faintly skeptical air and periodically whispered suggestions. When Jake came up with the idea of the nail in the club, he gave Jake the compliment of a weak smile and a thumb’s up.

And that surprised Jake and didn’t surprise him because by then it was clear that their earlier antagonism was gone. Now when Cheung spoke, his tone was calm, almost warm. When they talked about a possible rescue, he even asked Jake’s opinion.

And Jake, for his part, tried to be a little less my-way-or-the-highway, a little less prickly. He doubted if he and Cheung would ever be friends, but at least they weren’t going to stay enemies. 

“You really think someone is on the way?” Jake asked as he forced himself to sit still. 

“I really do,” Cheung whispered. 

“How can you be so sure?” When Cheung looked away, Jake leaned forward and touched his shoulder. “What is it?”

“You’ll be angry,” Cheung said with a sideways glance.

“I’m already angry. How much angrier can I get?”

Cheung cracked a smile. “From what Chavez said, pretty angry.”

“Lawrence—”

Cheung raised his hand and croaked, “All right, all right. I think someone is on the way because it’s standard procedure to check in at an agreed upon time. In our case, six hours.”

“You’ve been calling Hawkins every six hours?”

“Yes.”

Jake thought about it, tried to get mad, and couldn’t. “Okay.”

Cheung frowned. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Okay.” Cheung was silent for a moment, long enough for Jake to wonder what was going on in head, then he said, “So we’re way past the check-in time and you said you might have gotten through to Hawkins when that brain trust, Bobby, answered your phone—”

“I’m not sure about that. I think I did, but maybe I didn’t.”

“Whatever. I still think the chances are good that they’re on the way. The only thing is…” Cheung trailed off and begain to cough.

For too long, and Jake held his shoulder until the coughing jag had passed. “Yeah," he muttered when Cheung was quiet again, "we might not be alive when they get here.” He sat back and hit his head on the wall one more time. And then he rubbed his temple. He probably shouldn’t do that anymore—his vision was swimming again, like it had back at the hospital. He hoped it wasn’t anything serious because a concussion right now was the last thing he needed. What he needed was action, and he pushed to his feet again and strode to the window. “The moon is going down.”

“Which means?”

“Which means we should find a way out of here before sunrise. Listen,” Jake hurried back and knelt by Cheung. The anxiety had returned, ten-fold. “I’ve been thinking, unless we can find a better spot, I mean someplace that’s _really_ safe, we should leave before morning.”

Cheung nodded weakly. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. We’re too vulnerable if they come back. I’m out of commission, we’re cornered, and once it gets light, they’re going to see our tracks.”

He pointed vaguely and Jake turned. Sure enough, there were boot marks in the dust all over the place. And probably downstairs as well. Tucker wasn’t an idiot—it would take him five seconds to figure out where they were hiding. 

Jake wanted to slap his forehead, but settled for a chagrined, “I didn’t even notice. They must’ve been too drunk to see them. Good catch.”

Cheung raised an eyebrow as if surprised that Jake would pay him a compliment, but all he whispered was, “Where would we go?”

Jake looked at their pitiful supply of weapons and shrugged. “Nowhere, really. I think our best bet is to bring the fight to them.”

“And?” Cheung sat up a bit, his eyes brightening. 

Jake gestured to the town, “Does this place look like someone lives here? I mean, doesn’t it look pretty dead to you?”

Cheung frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean…” Jake leaned closer. “They know their chances are better in the day, too. They know we’re on foot, that you’re hurt so we can’t go far.”

“And?”

“And, we’re a sure thing, as far as they know. They’ve probably figured that we’re holed up someplace and that they just can’t get to us right now.” Jake spoke faster, his certainty taking shape as he worked it through. “So,” he continued, “did that crowd look like the kind that would camp out in the cold, just to catch us the next morning? It’s gotta be forty, forty-five degrees out there. They had electric lanterns and that was about it that I could see. My guy, Bobby, just had a tarp and a brick in his truck. And there wasn’t a stove or fireplace in that office to keep them warm.”

He sat back on his heels. “I didn’t see any food, either. I bet they left a couple guys to stand guard and the rest went home.”

Cheung nodded, “Yeah, and one of my guys kept complaining about missing his dinner. I thought it was kind of funny, considering they were supposed to be these big, badass killers.” He grinned weakly.

Jake leaned over and touched Cheung’s shoulder again. “What if I take the club and go out and see if I can jump one of them. All we need is one gun, that’s all.” He didn’t say what he really wanted to say: that it might be their only chance of getting out alive, so there really wasn’t a choice.

Cheung squinted at him for a moment, then said, “If they even have any bullets left, after shooting up the door. Okay, yeah, but be careful. If they’re out there, they’re gonna be fucking pissed that we gave them the slip and they’ll take it out on you.”

Jake was already standing up. “I’ll just go slow, throwing rocks or something to see if anyone comes running.”

“If you can’t find them, then what?”

Jake paused and looked up. He hadn’t thought about that and it threw him for a second. Barely. “I bet they’re too paranoid for that, especially Tucker. He really, _really_ hates spies.” Jake had removed his belt while he was talking and when he looked up, Cheung was grinning up at him. “What?”

“Oh, I was just thinking how Tucker’s head would explode if he knew that I was a spy within a spy within a spy.”

Jake snorted. “Yeah, even my head is spinning at that one.” He wrapped the belt around his left hand, making sure the buckle lay on the outside, then picked up the club and held his arms out. “So, do I look dangerous?”

“You look like you could take them all on. Hey Jake?” Cheung’s smile died. “You do know that Hawkins will have my head if you get hurt, right?”

Jake shook his head and was about to tell Cheung what he could do with his secondhand worries when something roared overhead. Instinctively, he dropped to a crouch as Cheung flung himself sideways. 

It took Jake a fraction of a second to identify the sound—the high-pitched drone of small-engine plane. He held his breath and listened intently. The plane hadn’t flown off—it circled around and came back. This time it flew closer only to circle one more time. After the third flyover, the drone faded, then died.

Jake looked at Cheung. The second pass had shaken the building, and dust and debris floated down turning Cheung’s hair gray. “That’s gotta be for us.”

“Yeah, maybe, but Jake,” Cheung pushed himself upright, “it might not be. It might be Ravenwood. If they’ve heard about Jericho’s insurrection, this could be an effort to set up a military perimeter.”

Jake nodded, but he didn’t believe it. Somehow he _knew_ that plane was for them. But just in case Cheung was right— “What should we do?”

“Same as before, only you’ll need to watch your back all the way around. If it’s Ravenwood, you’ll be outnumbered by manpower and weapons.”

“What about you?”

Cheung held up a shard of glass and said, “Same thing: I’ll sit tight and wait for you.” 

Jake pushed to his feet. He walked to the door and looked back. Excitement had pushed away the fog and he felt energized, ready for anything. Cheung, however, looked worse than before. He gave Jake a smile he couldn’t interpret and then raised a hand. Jake waved back and said, “I’ll be back before you know it.” 

He didn’t wait for an answer. He crept across the big room, keeping to the edges. He was almost at the foot of the stairs when he realized what the look on Cheung’s face was: Fear_. _Cheung was—as hard as it was to imagine—afraid. 

A helpless rage tightened his throat and he tiptoed down the rest of the stairs, silently promising Cheung that whatever happened, he’d be back and he’d get him the hell out of here.

 

——————————

 

“Mr. Hawkins, is that you?” 

Rob finally got his brain to connect with his mouth and whispered incredulously, “Eric? What the hell?” 

“Could you…” 

Eric tried to pry Rob’s fingers away and Rob let him go with a hands-up apology. “Sorry, Eric,” he shook his head and smiled, “you’re not the Green we were expecting.”

“Or hoping for, I bet.” Eric’s grin was rueful. He glanced at Chavez, who was still crouched in the building’s shadow, covering them both. 

“This is Chavez.”

Eric nodded between the two of them and asked, “Have you heard from Jake?”

“Not yet.” Rob gestured for Eric to come closer. “Tell us your story and quickly, please.”

“Okay, we got word from Major Beck that Jake and a friend had gone missing or kidnapped or something, and that they were probably between Jericho and Garden City. So I gathered up some friends and came down. We’ve already been to Oakley, but we just got here—we’re parked on the other side,” he nodded to the south end of town. “We thought we should come up and around the back, only we got a little lost. It took us a while to get here. Were you the guys that flew over?” 

Rob nodded. “Yes. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I need to know who ‘_us_’ is.”

“Me, Emily and Jonah.”

Rob sat back, quickly recalculating and reconfiguring. From his few encounters with Jonah Prowse, he knew the man to be a good fighter, if more than a little self-serving and unpredictable. Still, their odds had just increased by a good margin. “What can you tell me about this town, Eric?”

“Not much. Em and Jake used to come here all the time when we were young, but I’ve only been here a few times. And that was when it wasn’t… Like this.” Eric made a vague gesture, taking in the deserted town, the ruined buildings.

“Where are Emily and Jonah now?”

“They’re down on the south side, looking in the junk yard.” 

“Do you have anyway of getting in touch with them?”

“No.”

Rob nodded. Eric could have planned better, but he’d been in a hurry and desperate to boot. “Well, the plan still hasn’t changed, even though we now have help.” He smiled at Eric. “We’ve got a signal, Eric, that’s coming from Jake’s cell.” He opened up the receiver and tilted it so Eric could see the green light. “It’s on this side of the street, about fifty feet away. We don’t know where they are exactly, but it’s safe to assume they’re inside one of the buildings.”

“We just going in like this?”

“Unless you have a better idea?”

Eric said, slowly, “No, but maybe one of us should stay outside in case there’s more than one kidnapper and they make a break for it. If Jake isn’t there, we might need as many alive as possible to get them to tell us where he is.”

It was a good idea; it would also mean that Rob and Chavez would have back-up. And on the heel of that thought was another: Eric Green had grown up a lot in the last few months. It shouldn’t have made him feel so sad, but it did. “So, we get up close and personal and see what’s what. Then Chavez and I go in, and Eric, you’re our eyes on the street. Ready?” He waited for Chavez to take point and they moved out. 

Covered by Chavez and Eric, Rob kept one eye on the GPS until they got to a building in the middle of the block. The place was lifeless—desolate, with an air of disuse, it didn’t look like a survivalists’ lair and his heart lightened. He wouldn’t make the mistake of counting Ravenwood out, but if he was just dealing with locals, so much the better.

Hand signaling, _'There' _and_ 'Up_,' he peered into the open doorway while Eric crept across the street to take cover in a blown-out theater.

The layout of the building was simple: a tiny foyer that led to a long flight of stairs. There was a faint glow at the top that showed a doorway. The stairs were going to be a problem. They were narrow and steep—it would be easy for someone to pick them off from the safety of the landing. He pulled back and checked the GPS again. The signal insisted that they were in the right place, so nothing for it. He stowed the equipment and got out his Glock. With it held high, he began his ascent, hugging the left-side wall to give him as much of a view of the door above as possible. 

He was halfway up when he stepped on something hard that crunched and broke. He bent to pick it up--a piece of wood. He lay it back down and kept going, coming across more as he climbed.

When he got a few yards from the landing, he realized why there were wood chips all over the place.

Someone had opened the door the hard way. He picked up a large splinter of wood—in the center was a bullet hole with the bullet still in it. Another piece looked like someone had taken a hammer to it and then beat it for good measure: the wood fibers were smashed and bent all along the long edge. 

Frowning, he turned to Chavez who shrugged.

Rob set the splinter down and took the last steps to the landing. He listened for movement within, but the only thing he heard was his own controlled breathing.

Cautiously, he stepped up to the threshold to see what he could see.

The room inside was dim. There was an electric lantern on a large wooden desk and he could make out two bodies splayed face down across it, one on either side. For a split second his heart stopped and then he realized that one of the figures was too bulky to be Jake or Cheung and he let out a shaky breath.

Neither had a weapon that he could see—there was a rifle propped on a chair near to the ruined doorway. He grabbed it and handed it back to Chavez without looking. 

He crossed the threshold and stood there for a moment, waiting for the figures to jump up, but they didn’t. They lay still, and there were no blood trails on the desk or floor and their clothing was intact with no sign of violence. 

He wondered if they were dead when he saw a bottle on the other side of the man nearest the door. They were dead all right, dead drunk. Dead drunk and weaponless, which was about as sweet a scenario as he could’ve hoped for.

Gun held steady, he advanced into the room a few steps and looked around. He was in some sort of large office—the center was filled with wooden desks and around that was a series of smaller offices. He signaled to Chavez and they moved further into the room.

Chavez rounded Rob’s left and moved to the other side of the men. Quickly, efficiently, he bound the two men together with plastic ties, then stood back and grinned at Rob. They looked for all the world like they’d fallen asleep, holding hands.

With Chavez standing guard, Rob searched them for weapons and found none. He signaled to Chavez and then searched the room, checking the offices and closets for hideaways, then came back to stand next to the two men. 

Who hadn’t moved, and Rob snorted softly and met Chavez’ disgusted glance. He’d been prepared for anything and the denouement was almost too much. He bent over the man nearest him and leaned in close. “Hello.”

Neither man moved. Rob shook his head and took off his pack, then moved the lantern between them. He was able to see, in the weak light, that the men had been living rough even though their clothing seemed new. The likelihood that these two were part of a hardcore survivalist’s group was remote.

Well, there was one way to find out. Rob poked the man nearest him with the barrel of his Glock and said louder, “Hey, there.” This time the man stirred and Rob stood back to give him room.

With a groan and a creak of the chair, the man tried to push himself up and when he couldn’t, panic hit. “Hey?” He tugged on the restraints, stretching his friend’s arms across the desk. “Hey!”

“Hello?” Rob asked, again.

The man froze. He turned his head around to look at Rob and stared for a long moment. “Who are you?”

Rob ignored the question. “I’m looking for a friend, for a couple friends, actually. I think you might know where they are.”

At that the man tugged on his restraints again and hissed to his companion, “Bobby! Bobby, wake up, you idiot.” He tugged again, almost dragging the other man out of his chair.

The second man, Bobby, lifted his head, mumbling, “Merle, damnit, I was sound as—” He looked up and saw Rob, then Chavez. He scowled and yanked on the restraints. “Shut up, Merle. Don’t you know who these guys are?”

“The spies’ friends?”

Rob looked over at Chavez, then back at the man, Bobby. The _‘spy’_ was obviously in reference to Cheung, which should have surprised him more then it had. The entire country believed China or North Korea was behind the attacks; these men were just parroting what they were told. But he’d bet a good goddamn dollar that they hadn’t listened to Cheung when he explained who he was, because there was no way Cheung wouldn’t try reason first.

He thought about telling Bobby who Cheung really was. He thought about telling the men that they were right and he’d been tracking Cheung himself, to bring him to justice. 

He did neither. He didn’t have the time or the inclination to enlighten them or concoct a new story—they were too scared and they’d never believe anything he said and he honestly didn’t care. So he just ran with the story they’d given him and used their fears against them. “Yes, we’re his friends. His fellow spies to be exact.”

“And you want us to tell you where they are,” Bobby snarled.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Rob exchanged a look with Chavez. Bobby had some balls, that was for sure. Not many men would answer the same, looking down the barrel of a gun. “All we want is our friends.”

“Well, we don’t—” Merle began, but Bobby jerked viciously on the restraints.

“Merle, I told you to shut up.”

Merle shut up—he wasn’t happy about it, and Rob would use that, if he could. 

Bobby turned back. “We can’t tell you where they are, but we can tell you where they were.” He jerked his head to the space behind Rob, and then he smirked.

The smirk told Rob that he wasn’t going to like what was coming next but he calmly nodded to Chavez, silently telling him to be prepared for anything, then turned to the east side of the room.

At first he couldn’t make anything out. He was about ten feet away when he realized that he was looking at an ancient delivery lift. Once upon a time it must have had a wench attached to the beam, used to get goods up and down.

He knew he was supposed to think that Bobby and Merle had killed Cheung by either pushing him off or hanging him from the beam. He almost laughed at the idea. Cheung would have to be practically dead and Jake almost comatose before they’d let those two get the better of them. 

He peered over the edge of the open door and looked down. As he’d thought, there was no one below and there were enough boxes and crates strewn about to show that nothing heavy had landed on them recently.

His best guess was that Jake and Cheung had shot their way out through the front door and were hiding somewhere in town. They could have taken a truck and made a run for it, but if Rob knew Cheung, he was hunkered down, waiting to pick the kidnappers off, one by one. He was patient that way.

He looked down again and thought it through. There had to be more than two kidnappers. Even with his recent wounds, Cheung would require at least three men to hold him. Add Jake to the mix and you were talking five, maybe six total. But where were the others, that was the question. And when would they be back?

Rob put on his game face and walked swiftly back. Without any warning, he pounced on Merle, using his weight to push the him into the desk. “So, if my friend is dead what’s to stop me from putting a bullet in your head, right here, right now?” He pushed harder and waited for the reaction he knew would come.

Merle face went blank and Rob slowly brought the muzzle to the corner of his eye and pressed. That was all it took.

With a noise that would probably embarrass him later when he thought about it, Merle started speaking, “No! We don’t have them, we don’t! Tucker, he was getting ready to hang them when they ran off.” He looked sideways at Rob and tried to nod even as he tried to pull away. “They ran off. Seriously.”

“Shut up, Merle,” Bobby muttered.

Chavez spoke for the first time. “What time was this?”

Merle shrugged, still looking at Rob. “I don’t know, honest. We found them around five or six yesterday, and we got here about nine?” 

Bobby hissed again, “Merle!”

Rob shoved the gun into Merle’s temple, hard. “You _found_ them?” He heard a quiet cough and he looked up to find Chavez staring at him steadily. Rob took a breath and then pushed away from Merle He collected himself, but Merle hadn’t noticed anything—he was still cringing when he mumbled, “Well, we sorta… Made them stop. We weren’t going to hurt them, only Tucker, he said your friend was a spy—”

Bobby jerked his hands. “Merle! He is too a spy. Tucker said so.”

Merle opened his mouth, but Rob interrupted them; they’d probably go on all night, back and forth, if he didn’t shut them up. “So Tucker has my friend?”

Merle shook his head. “No, no. They got away. Honest!”

"Merle, you ass_hole_! Shut up!"

“And Tucker went after them?”

“No.” Merle shook his head. “They got away and one of them barricaded the door.” He said it almost in accusation and Rob wanted to laugh. “Then we got out and went looking, but your friends, they hid good. Tucker got mad and left us here to keep guard. He’s supposed to come back in the morning.” By now Bobby had given up trying to get Merle to stop talking—he lay there with his head between his arms, growling softly. 

Rob leaned over Merle. “By _‘got out’, _you mean you shot the door down?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you hit one of my friends?”

Merle looked away and shook his head again. 

Rob leaned closer. “Are you sure?”

Merle pulled on the ties and nodded, still avoiding Rob’s glance.

Rob’s heart sank. Merle was lying, but what about and what to do about it? There wasn’t time for a full interrogation—they had maybe three hours before Tucker showed up and they still had to find Jake and Cheung.

“Merle—” he began when Chavez interrupted him with a raised hand. “Movement,” he whispered. Rob hurried to the door while Chavez got out a roll of duct tape and quickly gagged Bobby, then Merle. 

Plastered against the wall, Rob could hear the steps now, quiet and cautious. If it was Tucker and his men, Rob was going to have to stop them at the door. Giving them time to find cover in any of the office would be a serious mistake. 

But no, if Tucker had returned, Rob would’ve heard the trucks or, at the very least, Eric would have done something to warn them.

The steps got louder and Rob realized it was more than one person, probably three or four by the spread of sound. So hopefully Eric, Emily, and Jonah, but just in case…

He gestured, but Chavez was already moving behind Bobby, using the man’s body for cover. He pressed his gun against Bobby’s temple and held his finger to his lips. Both men nodded, but Bobby tensed, getting ready to move or shout if the opportunity came.

Something clattered on the stairs and Rob turned back to the door and held his breath. He heard a hushed, _“Shit,” _then a floorboard squeaked—they were at the landing.

There was a breathless pause and a rustle of fabric as the person on the other side stopped and waited.

And that waiting, that stillness, set off a signal somewhere deep inside his gut and he _knew_ who was there on the other side of the wall. 

So when the dark figure put one hand on the doorframe and peered cautiously inside, he was able to say in a voice that shook only a little, “_Jake_.”

 

——————————

 

Jake reached the bottom of the steps and made it outside without any problem. He hid in the shadows and listened on the off chance that someone was pulling a fast one on him and had been waiting all this time. 

When it looked like he was alone, he crept along the exterior wall until he came to the south side. The town, from what he could see, looked empty but just to make sure he picked up a rock and lobbed it as far as he could, then scuttled back to the shadows and held his breath.

After another interminable wait, he decided that he was getting paranoid and that enough was enough. He crept back to the east side, hurried through the yard, and slipped through the rip in the fence.

The moon was on its way down and he was glad that he knew where he was going because as he hurried back down the alley, the trash and the junk were nothing more than black lumps. Black lumps that looked like hunched over figures and he tightened his grip on his club, half expecting one of the lumps to come alive and jump him. 

He told himself not to be such a baby, but when movement on his right drew his eye, he dropped in his tracks, his heart pounding, and waited for something to come lurching towards him.

When nothing happened, he looked again—on the other side of Main Street, two figures were walking away from him. He sighed in relief and got up, still bent over, and followed them. They were keeping to the shadows, walking towards what used to be the lumberyard. He was pretty sure they weren’t Tucker’s men—they were both wearing caps, but one was too short and slim. Maybe they were more members of the gang.

Whoever they were, at least one of them had a rifle and Jake needed it.

He followed them in the same manner, movement for movement, as they made their silent way to the lumberyard’s high front gate.

Using a stripped car for cover, Jake waited for them to open the gate, but they didn’t. They stood there and talked, gesturing back and forth. 

When they turned back towards town, he’d already scuttled behind a car, some sixth sense telling him to hide. He froze, trying not to breath too hard as they came within fifteen feet of his hiding place and walked  on by.

And he would have waited longer, but just then the figure closest to him shook his head and a length of hair fell from his cap. Even in the dark Jake knew those long blond strands. He dropped the club and whispered, “Emily!”

Emily whirled and almost cried out before she remembered where she was. She threw herself into his arms and he held her close for a moment before letting her go. He nodded as the other figure sighed and lowered his gun. “Jonah.”

Jonah nodded. “Jake Green. You almost got your head blown off.” Emily laughed weakly and gave Jake another quick hug. 

“What are you two doing here?”

Emily hit his arm and said, “Rescuing you, you idiot.”

Jonah rested his shotgun on his shoulder. “Major Beck called Eric to tell him you were missing. Then Eric called Emily and she called me. I was all for waiting another couple days,” he added dryly, “but Em wouldn’t hear of it. She forced me to come along. Said she’d never speak to me again if I didn’t.” 

He wasn’t too happy about it and Jake remembered what he’d said the year before, when he’d come to save Jake’s—and Jericho’s ass—from the Ravenwood mercs. Jonah looked Jake over, then raised one eyebrow. “These days, most people wear their belts on their pants.” He nodded to Jake’s left hand were the belt was still tightly wound.

Jake grinned and shook his head, regretting it almost immediately. His head was still aching and the dizziness was back. Maybe it was relief. 

He unwrapped the belt and put it back on. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, Jonah. And speaking of, the man I was traveling with, Cheung, he’s holed up in the grain elevator—” Emily hit Jonah’s arm as if to say, _see._ “I was on my way to see if the men that took us are still around.”

“And then?”

“And then I was going to kidnap _them _and force them to drive us to Jericho so I can get Cheung to a hospital and turn them over to the authorities.”

“Which would be you.”

“Which would be me.” He didn’t add, _‘maybe,’ _because he wasn’t sure if he was still sheriff and Jonah didn’t need to know that.

Jonah pulled a pistol from his back pocket and handed it to Jake. “You lead?”

“Yeah.” He checked the gun’s clip. “This way.”

This time, Jake had to keep reminding himself that they were still in danger and that anything could happen. It was just that after what he’d gone through in the last ten hours, having Jonah at his back felt more like a hunting party and not a desperate bid to get out of town. 

And that thought led to another and Jake realized he’d missed something important. He touched Emily’s arm and stopped her. “Hey, why not just leave? Let’s just get Cheung and go.”

Emily was already shaking her head. “No, we can’t. Eric is here, somewhere.”

“Where?” 

Emily shrugged one shoulder. “He wanted to check out Main Street. We were supposed to meet back at the truck in,” she checked her watch, “ten minutes, if we didn’t find you.”

“So you don’t know where Eric is? What if he got caught by the same guys that took Cheung and me?” It was a messed up plan, and Jake tried to keep any accusation out of his voice, but by the way Jonah tightened his lips, he hadn’t been successful. He tried again, this time saying neutrally, “Okay, let’s get to the building where they were holding us, then see what happens.”

Jonah pushed Emily out of the way and said, “That’s your plan? See what happens?” Apparently Jonah didn’t have any problems with accusations. It had always been like that between them, Jake thought. Like oil and water and no wonder Emily had always tried to keep them apart.

“Jake! Dad!” Emily whispered loudly, turning from one to the other. “We don’t have time for this. If Eric’s in trouble we need to find him.” She frowned and jerked her head towards Main Street. “We’ve got to go.”

Jonah glared at Jake, then ground out, “You heard her—go.”

They set out again, this time sacrificing silence for speed. They reached the newspaper building in a few minutes and stood in front of it. 

Jake was weighing his options when someone called his name in a strangled whisper. “Hey! Jake—” And there was Eric, jogging over from the other side of the street, rifle held loose in his hand.

Jake rushed to meet him and they grabbed each other. He was warm and solid and it came to Jake that the last time he’d seen Eric was when he dropped Jake off at the safe house, almost a week ago now. So much had happened that he felt like an entirely different person. “It’s good to see you,” Jake whispered into Eric’s shoulder, and stepped back. 

Eric hit him on the arm and said, “I hear you’ve been having a lot of fun.” 

Jake choked back a laugh and said, “It was a blast.”

“Beck said you guys really saved the day.”

“Yeah, well, Rob did most of it.”

“Rob?”

Jake shrugged, “Hawkins. I mean.”

“Huh.” Eric shook his head as if surprised that Rob _had _a first name. “He’s here, by the way.”

Jake grabbed Eric’s arm. “Hawkins is here, in Scott City?” He’d completely forgotten that it was probably Rob that had done the flyover. He was losing it.

“No, I mean, he’s here _here_,” and Eric jerked a thumb to the building in front of them and hurried to where Jonah and Emily waited. “He and his friend are upstairs. They were looking for you.” Eric peered up the staircase and shrugged nervously. “They’ve been up there for about ten or fifteen minutes. Guess they found something.”

“Were there any shots? Maybe Tucker and his men got him.”

Eric shook his head. “I doubt it, Jake; they were armed for a small war.”

“Maybe we could just go see,” Jonah interrupted. “Not that I’m not enjoying this little family reunion, but Jake, didn’t you say something about the man you were with and how he needed immediate medical attention?”

Jake turned to Jonah, and Eric put a hand on his arm. He gave Jake a look that said, _Calm down—it’s just Jonah being Jonah, _then said out loud,“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll go first.”

Jake shook his head sharply, “No, let me. I’ve been here before.” He gripped the gun with both hands and entered the building.

He wasn’t surprised to find the remains of the office door scattered all over the steps. It looked like he’d been right: Tucker and his men _had_ shot their way out. The memory, only a few hours old, of stumbling down the very same stairs sent a curl of anger and unexpected fear through his stomach. He really didn’t want to go back up to that room.

Tucker was probably long gone, he told himself. He’d probably left and taken his crew with him. But if that were the case, why was Rob still up there, and more importantly, why couldn’t Jake _hear_ anything?

He was almost to the landing when something clattered behind him. Someone hissed, _“Shit.” _Jake whipped around to find Emily with her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with apology.

Jake shrugged to show her it was okay. They lost their element of surprise, but if Eric was right, they didn’t need it. He climbed the last few steps and stopped, just on the threshold, out of reach of the weak light coming from the room. 

He held his breath and listened intently. And then he relaxed with a heavy sigh. It was crazy, but he _knew _someone was standing inches away, waiting for him to step forward. And what was even crazier was that he knew who it was. He put his hand on the doorframe and peered around to see Rob, flat against the wall, gun pointed straight at his head.

Rob blinked and sighed. “Jake.”

Jake grinned and stuffed his gun in the back of his pants and, like it seemed he’d been doing all night, stepped forward and reached out. He grabbed Rob and pulled him in tight, never minding all the gear he had to work around. He closed his eyes and whispered into Rob’s ear, “Superman.”

Rob’s wisp of laughter broke the embrace and he pushed Jake back, holding his hips. He looked Jake up and down and said roughly, “Just the person I’ve been looking for. You all right?”

Jake shrugged. Rob was dressed in black from head to foot, armed for, as Eric had said, a small war. His eyes were bloodshot and weary, but his smile was clear and open. He looked good, even great. “I’ve been banged up a bit. How ’bout you?” He touched Rob’s side where the bullet had gone through. “Did you take it easy in Columbus?”

“Oh, yeah, we’ve been doing nothing but having fun, lounging around by the swimming pool. But, yeah, I’m fine.” 

Rob’s hands were still on his hips and the pressure and the heat were making him jumpy again—he felt hot and cold at the same time. Which was probably just stress, or something like that. “Yeah, well, you _were_ a pool guy, after all.” 

Rob laughed again, and looked past Jake’s shoulder. “Where’s Cheung?”

He opened his mouth to answer when Jonah yelled, “Any time, guys!”

He twisted in Rob’s hands and looked back—he’d forgotten his makeshift team, still on the stairs. And there was Chavez, off to the side, watching with a blank expression. He rubbed his temple—his headache was worse and it was hard to think. “Oh, yeah…” He really _was _losing it.

Rob tugged him aside by his belt loops, then let go as Eric, Emily, and Jonah trooped through. Jonah took one look around, then sat down on a chair near the door, his expression saying that he’d had enough of rescuing people that didn’t need rescuing.

Jake watched as Hawkins greeted the others and casually looked around. It took him a moment to recognize what the lumps on the table were and he when he did, his anger returned in a heady rush. He stalked over and stood there, smiling softly.

Someone had tied their hands together with plastic restraints and they were gagged as well. Jake put his hand on Bobby’s back and leaned close. He smelled of sweat and booze and Jake smiled again, soft and mean. “Hey.” Bobby narrowed his eyes and he jerked at the restraints. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled. It would be so easy to smash Bobby’s face into the desk, to beat him to a pulp, to make him as bloody as Cheung… 

“Jake?” Rob was right behind him. “No,” he said, a steady warning in his voice.

He tightened his fist, his lips, and looked up. Chavez was on the other side of the desk and he was staring at Jake calmly—he wouldn’t step in if Jake attacked either of the bound men, but Rob…

Jake stood down. He gave Bobby a last shake, then straightened and stepped back. He took a deep breath, then another. And turned. 

Rob was watching with a secret approval that made Jake's stomach ache. He didn't look away when he announced, “Cheung is over in the grain elevator.” Behind him, Bobby made a sound and Jake smiled without looking at him. Bet that was going to piss Tucker off when he found out. “They beat him and tried to hang him, but he didn’t die,” he added, and watched as Rob’s face grew dark and cold. 

He knew it wasn’t very nice, but he took sweet satisfaction in the way Rob and Chavez moved closer to bracket the two men on the desk, the way Bobby cowered.

Chavez kicked the other man’s chair, but Rob just stared. He was, Jake knew, memorizing the men’s faces for later when he had time to plan his revenge and Jake promised himself that if he could, he’d be there to see it.

And then Rob turned to face Jake, his grim look evening out. “Okay, just tell us where and we’ll go get him.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, Jake, we’ll take it from here. Go on, sit.” Rob pointed to a nearby chair.

“No, it’s a mess there and…”

Rob stepped closer and said, “Jake, please.”

Jake opened his mouth to argue, but the day suddenly caught up with him and before he knew it, he’d found a chair and was on it. He rubbed his hands over his face; his eyes felt gritty and his head was pounding.

Rob nodded, then went over to the others. He gestured for them to gather round and began talking. Jake couldn’t hear any of it, but he watched the team respond to his every word and move, their faces focused and intent. Even Jonah had joined them.

Jake remembered back, over nine months ago now, to that first week after the bombs and how Rob had taken control with the same ease, the same confidence. He’d slipped in and managed to get the citizens of Jericho do what he needed without any show of force or coercion. If he hadn’t saved Jericho so many times, his powers of persuasion would be truly frightening.

“Hey.” 

Jake jumped—Chavez was beside him. He hadn’t even noticed him move. “Hey, Chavez. Thanks for coming after us.”

“De nada.” He crouched and touched Jake’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Just tired, hungry, sore.” Chavez fished around in his jacket and came up with a small black flask. “And pissed. Here.”

Jake unscrewed the lid and took a sip. It was whiskey and it burned as it went down.

“Chavez,” Rob called from across the room, “don’t let him have too much of that.” 

“Yes, mother,” Chavez said with a wink to Jake.

The alcohol warmed Jake’s stomach and he took another grateful sip. He felt better already.

Rob broke up the meeting and came over to crouch next to Chavez. He smiled reassuringly up at Jake. “Emily’s taking us. She says she can get us in.”

“Tell her we were upstairs, where all the offices are. She’ll know what I mean.” He opened the flask again.

Rob took it away, gave it back to Chavez, and dug around in his pack, coming up with a water bottle and a couple energy bars. Uncapping the bottle, he held it out and said, “Drink.”

Jake scowled, but drank anyway; it tasted even better than the whiskey and he finished it in one long gulp, then looked down. This close, Rob smelled faintly of leather, aftershave, and sweat, and it was probably just the whiskey that made Jake want to lean forward and fall on him. 

Rob glanced at Chavez and jerked his head. “Give us a minute?” Chavez nodded and stood up to wait with the others at the door. Rob watched him go, then turned back. “Hey?” 

“Yeah?”

“First…” He sat the food on Jake’s knee. “We’re going to retrieve Cheung and get out of here. We have a Cessna 340 on the outskirts of town. What are the chances of you being helping me get her up in the air? Taking off on a normal field is one thing; broken asphalt is completely different.”

He smiled, “Are you telling me there’s something you can’t do and that you need my help?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He absently picked up a bar and unwrapped it, hearing the echo of a similar conversation from just a week ago. And he felt it again, that strange pleased surprise, just because Rob needed him. “Sure,” he said nodding, “I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m not that cheap a date,” he added, only realizing after he said it how it must have sounded.

Rob ducked his head and grinned. “Good, I’ll remember that. Chavez will take you to the plane. You get her ready; hopefully we’ll be there in an hour. Give me your hand.” Rob fished around in his pocket and got out a pen. “This is just in case you get split up.” He took Jake’s hand and wrote a series of numbers on the back. Jake shivered at the cool path the ink made on his skin, at the heat of Rob’s fingers. “Okay, read that back to me.”

“Seven, asterisk, three, three, zero, nine.”

“Perfect.” Rob put the pen away. “You been hitting walls again?” 

The non-sequitur threw him for a moment and it must have shown, because Rob picked up his hand again and examined it, running his thumb lightly over the bruised knuckles.

He managed a rough, “Yeah.”

“Yeah, well, when we get home, I’ll get the splinters out and you can tell me why and why you lost most of your shirt.” He stood up and held out his hand. Jake took it and let himself be pulled up. 

“What about these Bobby?” He didn’t care as much as he probably should—he was trying to rid himself of the absurdly hot image of Rob, bent over his hand, picking splinters out, one by one. 

“We’ll leave them for… Tucker? That was his name?” Jake nodded. “He can pick them up in the morning. Which won’t be too far from now, so we have to go.” He turned and jerked his head and Jonah herded the group out the door.

Jake turned and looked around at the room he’d been held captive for so short a time, surprised to find the fear and anger were already gone. Maybe he hadn’t been held long enough, maybe he hadn’t been hurt enough. Or maybe torture was something you got used to, eventually.

He closed his eyes, tight. He _never _wanted to get used to pain—he knew the day he did, he’d lose whatever it was that made him human. Like Goetz, like Constantino.

Rob came up behind him again, close enough that Jake could feel his warmth on his bare arms. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice intimate, gentle.

He nodded.

“When you remember this, and I know you will, remember that they didn’t break you. All right?”

Jake turned and opened his mouth. He thought to say something like ‘_Thanks to you_,’ or maybe, _‘How’?_ but he glanced to the side—Eric was at the door, next to Chavez, watching them with a small frown.

He shut his mouth and stepped away from Rob before he could stop himself. It was an awkward moment and he wanted to tell Eric to quit looking at him that way. He didn’t. He stuffed the energy bars in his pocket and strode to the door, saying to Chavez, “Let’s go.”

“Jake?” Rob called out.

He didn’t turn.

“Don’t forget to eat. I need you alert and focused.”

Jake nodded and as they left, he could feel Eric’s stare, like a heavy hand on the back of his neck.

 

——————————

 

Rob watched Jake and Chavez out the door then turned to Bobby and Merle. If they were going to stay tied up, he needed to make sure there was no possible way they could get loose. He sat his pack on the desk, got out more restraints and tied their ankles to the chair legs. Eric stood by the door, following his every move.

Rob ignored him. He found the small black case he brought on every mission and laid it on the desk—inside were the five nested syringes he’d requisitioned back in Texas. He picked one up and removed the cap. 

He did Merle first, mostly because he wanted to watch Bobby’s face as he realized what was happening. Sure enough, Bobby’s eyes bulged and he tried to pull away, all the while growling and swearing behind his gag. Rob usually wasn’t sadistic, but a little payback wouldn’t hurt and might serve as a warning the next time they thought to hijack innocent travelers.

“What is that?” Eric had moved nearer and stood there with his rifle half raised. His eyes were wide and angry.

“Just something to make sure they don’t follow us.” It wasn’t the whole reason, but Eric didn’t need to know that.

“Will it kill them?”

Merle was already out. Rob smiled as Bobby yanked his arms, doing everything he could to get away. “No Eric, it won’t.” He grabbed Bobby’s arm and plunged the needle in quickly. He waited as Bobby’s eyes closed and his body slumped down, then put everything away. 

There was one last thing to do.

A quick search of Bobby’s coat yielded Jake’s watch, wallet, badge, and cell. He wasn’t sure where Cheung’s things were, but he’d worry about that later. 

He stuffed everything but the cell into his pack and, with Eric still glaring at him, quickly deleted all the data from the phone and put it back where he’d found it. With any luck, Bobby would think he’d simply missed it in his search.

All done, he picked up the lantern and gave it to Eric. Who was still frowning. “Is there anything you need? Eric?” he asked as repacked his supplies.

Eric shifted from side to side and looked down at the floor, then back up. He shrugged and didn’t answer.

Rob swung his pack on his shoulders, then his rifle, then checked his clip, even though he knew he didn’t need to. He switched off the lantern. “Here,” he handed it to Eric, “can you…?” He turned his back and felt Eric stuff the lantern into his pack. He sighed and said, “I know something’s bothering you. Why don’t you just say it.”

Eric took a breath and said, “I don’t—”

Rob turned. Eric was just a shadow against the darker black of the door but there was enough light to see the way he worked his jaw, the way he squeezed the rifle as if he wanted to strangle something.

He sighed again. The Green boys were truly stubborn. He headed for the door only to have Eric step in front of him at the last minute. 

“I was just wondering… I mean, you’re married, right?” 

“My marriage doesn’t concern you, Eric, and we really—”

“No, that’s not what—” Eric raised his hand and, in a gesture just like Jake’s, he ran his hand over his hair. It was the first time Rob had seen any sort of familial resemblance between the two and it felt odd and wrong, like no one should use Jake’s gestures but Jake. 

“It’s just, Jake’s been through a lot lately, and he and Emily are…” Eric spoke quickly, belligerently, then stopped and retreated, almost hitting the door jamb. “Look, never mind, Mr. Hawkins. I’m just tired…” 

He turned and would have gone straight down the stairs, but Rob grabbed his sleeve. “Eric, it’s pretty dark down there. Here.” Rob held out his flashlight and Eric took it without looking at him. He almost ran down the stairs and Rob followed at a slower pace, thinking. 

As strange at is was, Eric Green had just warned him off his brother. Eric had seen something he didn’t like and in not so many words, told Rob that Jake and Emily were an item and to back off.

Rob wanted to laugh at the bitter irony. On one hand he had Chavez telling him to go for it, and on the other he had Eric telling him no way. 

It was an unexpected moment in a day full of them and the last thing he needed was Eric Green telling him how to live his life—he had enough people doing that. 

He pushed away his irritation and when he got outside, he nodded to his small crew waiting for him on the sidewalk, and gestured to Emily. “If you please?”

She walked quickly, leading the way unerringly in the dark and they reached the grain elevator in ten minutes. Out in the open, away from the central buildings, he had a better view of the countryside and his heart sank. There in the distance, he could see a thin line of pale gray on the horizon. It was later than he thought—morning was coming. 

He said nothing. There was no sense in panicking anyone—that’s how mistakes were made.

When Emily reached the grain elevator, Rob was more than a little grateful for her presence. The mill had been closed long enough to make even walking around the perimeter a hazard. The fence was eight feet high with barbed wire on top, and beyond that, the ground was littered with farm equipment and refuse. The place looked as it had been the playground for thieves and vagrants for a long time and he’d have really hated trying to find his way in on his own.

Emily, however, didn’t hesitate. With one hand on the links, she followed the fence east until it turned north again. She went about a hundred feet, then stopped and crouched down. She muttered, “Damnit,” then got up and put her hands on her hips and looked around. Rob didn’t have to ask to know that her old entry point had been closed. 

He craned his head, looking for another possibility, wanting to do his own swearing—if he’d been thinking clearly, he’d have asked Jake how they got in. Which, he realized with a start, he still could, and he was getting out his two-way to contact Chavez when Emily said, “There.” She hurried to a section that was almost hidden by an overgrown bush and knelt to show that the links had been cut into a crude flap about four feet high.

She handed her gun to her father and squeezed through, followed by Jonah and Eric. Rob looked around, making sure they were still alone, then he was under and through. Emily hurried ahead and by the time he got to the building, the others were through the tall steel door.

The interior was just as run down as the exterior—there were piles of junk and broken glass everywhere, and nearby he heard something skitter in the dark—bats or rats, probably. 

But there were the stairs, just as Jake had said and Rob was on the first step, his hand on the railing when Jonah hissed, _“Wait.”_

Rob paused and turned back. “What for?”

“Jake said we needed to signal Cheung because he has glass.”

“Glass? What does that mean?”

Jonah shook his head. “I have no idea.”

Rob nodded and thought about it. “Okay, knowing Jake and Cheung, they might have come up with some sort of booby trap, so let’s just stay put for the moment.”

“Then how are we supposed to find him?” Eric whispered from below.

Rob smiled and drew a deep breath. As loud as he could, he bellowed, _“Cheung!”_

The building echoed with his shout, the reverberations gradually dying off to nothing. Emily started to climb, but Rob touched her arm. “Wait. Listen.”

He held his breath and then let it out with a sigh when Cheung appeared at the top of the stairs, looking for all the world like a ghost. Even from a distance, Rob could see he was in bad shape—he was limping and holding his right arm at a funny angle. And, carefully, with just his fingertips, he held something that glittered and reflected the weak light when he moved.

Glass,” Jonah said quietly.

Rob nodded—Jake and Cheung must have been desperate if they’d resorted to such a useless weapon. He holstered the Glock and began to climb.

Cheung tossed the shard away and started down, holding tight to the railing. He’d only gone a few steps when he tripped and Emily gasped and ran around Rob to catch him as he crumpled.

When Rob reached them, Emily was muttering something under her breath and he could see the reason for her angry words. Cheung’s face  and shirt were streaked black with dried blood, his neck so swollen it was almost the width of his skull. He looked like something out of a nightmare and Rob grimaced. “Sit down. They try to hang you?”

“_Try_ is the operative word,” Cheung croaked as he sat down on the steps. He looked at Emily, then questioningly at Rob.

“This is Emily.” And then, “Jake’s friend,” when Cheung’s face closed up. As if that made it any better. He rummaged through his pack, looking for his remaining water bottle. His own anger had crested again, which would do him no good, but later…

  
He held Cheung’s head and brought the bottle to his lips, cautioning, “You know the drill, not too much, now.”

Cheung closed his eyes and took the bottle from Rob. “I’m not that weak and not that dehydrated,” he whispered, “my throat is just really sore. I take it you found Jake?”

Rob nodded. “More like Jake found us.” He went back to his pack, rooting around for the ice packs, gauze, and tape. He found the packs and broke them, giving them to Emily. “Hold these, please. I can’t do much other than try to get the swelling down, but…” With Emily’s help, he gently wrapped the packs, then gauze around Cheung’s neck and taped the whole thing together. “How’s that, too tight?”

Cheung experimentally moved his head and gave a thumb’s up.

“Anyway,” Rob said, as he repacked the supplies, “Jake and Chavez are at the plane. Which I’ll tell you about later. We’ve got to go.” He stood up and held his hand out.

Cheung took it. “Chavez,” he whispered sarcastically, “This will be fun.”

“It will be. Once we get there. Now stop talking. Are you cold? I’ve got an extra sweater in my pack.” Cheung nodded and Rob found the sweater. He cut the neck open and with a liberal amount of swearing from Cheung and more help from Emily, Rob managed to drag it over Cheung’s head. His knuckles, Rob noticed, were bruised and raw. He’d either been using them on Tucker and company, or maybe on Jake. Rob hoped not; he hoped Jake and Cheung hadn’t been at each other’s throats the whole time.

The unintended pun made him wince and he added, “I’ve got some of those liquid energy packs you like so much, but we need to get going.” He didn’t bother asking if Cheung could make it to the plane on his own. After what he’d been through—_because_ of what he’d been through—Rob knew he’d walk out on his own two feet if it killed him.

Cheung nodded again, already looking a little better—his eyes were brighter, the lines of pain on his forehead disappearing. He smiled at Emily then turned to Rob, “Hey?”

“Yeah?” 

“I have to tell you…” Cheung paused. “Jake—he really saved me, man. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be swinging from a tree.”

“Then you can thank him when we see him again. So shut up.” 

Cheung grinned and Rob handed him the food and with Rob in front and Emily in back, they made it down the stairs. When they got to Eric and Jonah, Cheung looked at Rob before nodding cautiously. Cheung had always been paranoid and the fact that he was compromised by three strangers and possibly more? He was probably coming up with all sorts of contingency plans, lies, and aliases, this very minute. 

As long as he made it to the plane Rob didn’t care if he told everyone he was the black sheep of the Hawkins family, come to visit. 

But maybe there was one person Cheung wasn’t going to lie to. As Emily left the building and began to wind her way back through the yard, Cheung hurried after her.

“We going to have a problem?” Jonah spoke quietly at Rob’s shoulder. 

Rob didn’t turn. He was watching to make sure Emily turned north and not south. Which she did. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.” He got to the fence and crawled through and waited until Eric and Jonah were through, helping each of them up.

Jonah shouldered his sawed-off shotgun and said, “Eric, can you give us a minute?” With a look of mixed confusion and frustration, Eric left them, hurrying to catch up with Emily and Cheung. “I mean about your partner.” 

“Cheung?”

“_I mean_,” Jonah said, as if to a child, “a lot of guys come sniffing around Emily, and then I have to run them off with this,” he patted the stock of his shotgun.

Rob raised an eyebrow and began walking again. “Cheung is his own man—he does what he wants. Besides, don’t you think your daughter is old enough to decide for herself? She seems pretty smart to me.”

“She made a smart move with that Roger fellow, only the good folks of Jericho ran him out of town,” Jonah said bitterly.

Rob could never get anyone to tell him much of what happened, the previous winter when Roger Hammond was forced to leave town, and he hadn’t pressed. He’d been too busy trying to figure out what the hell Sarah was going to do next, trying to figure out who had set him up.

“What about Jake?” Rob said before he could stop himself. There was only one reason he wanted to know the answer to that question and he was a coward and a half for asking.

“Jake?” Jonah laughed bitterly. “Jake made her laugh, made her crazy, and finally broke her heart. No,” Jonah shook his head, “Jake is no good for her.”

“So you’re going to threaten every man that shows an interest in her? Sounds like a lot of work to me and I really don’t think she’d appreciate it.”

Jonah stopped and put his hand on Rob’s chest. “What d’you know about it? If you had a daughter you’d be singing a different tune.”

Rob pressed into Jonah’s hand and shot back, “I _do _have a daughter.” 

Jonah looked at him, skeptically, “Yeah?”

“Yes, and I’ve had to balance out what would be good for her. And what wouldn’t.” 

Jonah let go and stepped back. “Which is what?” 

Rob hesitated, then pushed by Jonah and began walking again. He really needed to stop talking—it was probably exhaustion that had loosened his tongue, but hell, the day he let Jonah Prowse tell him what to do was the day he checked himself into a retirement home. “I mean, I’ve had to teach my daughter to be independent and strong, in case she gets into a situation. In case I’m not around.”

“How old is she?”

“Fifteen.”

Jonah curled his lip. “You taught your fifteen-year old daughter, what—to maim, shoot, kill?”

“I taught her to _protect _herself.” Rob took a breath; he was getting angry over nothing. “And from what I’ve seen, farm girls are pretty good at shooting, as well.” 

It was meant to be a wry observation, but Jonah didn’t take it as one. “That’s not the same thing and you know it.”

Rob said nothing. Jonah was wrong—and he was also right. It’d been a fine line that Rob had tread, the day he decided that Allie needed to learn what skills he could teach her and he still wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing. 

She had saved the day, the night Sarah had discovered Rob’s words were nothing more than lies, but he was starting to realize that he might have jumped the gun, so to speak, that he’d let the situation call the shots, and not his good judgment. Darcy, when Rob had asked not two weeks ago, had told him that Allie was still having nightmares every few nights and that she was worried. And that she wondered why Rob wasn’t worried as well.

He ran his hand over his jaw, reminding himself that it wasn’t too late, that his daughter still had a long life before her, that she still had choices. He also reminded himself that it was a topic for another day, not something to be argued over with a man who was a relative stranger. “Look, it’s been a long day, and I’m not going to discuss this with you any further. If you feel the need to threaten Cheung, I suggest you take it up with him. Just make sure you have that,” he nodded to the shotgun, “and watch your back.”

Jonah grunted and didn’t quite hide his sneer, but he shut up which was all Rob cared about.

Because he was getting to that stage that he’d always mentally tagged his ‘absolutely done’ phase, that dead space that always occurred after a particularly strenuous or emotionally draining mission. He wouldn’t classify this particular mission as physically strenuous, but emotionally draining? He felt like he’d been _on _for the last twenty-four hours and he needed rest soon or he’d start making even worse mistakes then opening up to Jonah Prowse.

And thankfully, the remainder of the hike back was quick and quiet. Jonah shut up and Rob was able to plan for the last half of the mission.

By now Chavez would have the plane opened up. By now Jake would be getting her fired up. Hopefully whatever was wrong with his head was minor and he’d have eaten and was ready to go. Rob knew he shouldn’t worry so much. Jake was tough and resilient, more than even Rob had expected, and once again he thanked whatever force or god  had sent Jake his way.

And what would have happened if Jake hadn’t been there all those times? Would Rob have managed on his own? Would the bomb have ended up in John Smith’s hands after all?

He was a realist, first and last—it was how he’d managed to stay alive and ahead of the game all these years. But now, looking back over the past few months, he felt a unsettling sense of destiny, as if all his moves and decisions had been made simply to meet this one man that would step in and help him when he needed it the most.

“That’s Jake,” Jonah muttered.

Rob jerked his head up, yanked out of his straying thoughts—Jonah was pointing up. To the crest of the long hill where a dark figure stood.

He sighed as his heart evened out. Jonah wasn’t reading his thoughts—that was crazy and proof that he really did need rest.

Emily, Eric, and Cheung reached Jake first and to Rob’s surprise, Cheung gave Jake a brief hug. Cheung never hugged anyone, ever. He was reserved and secretive—even Rob didn’t know if he had family or friends. But there he was with one hand on Jake’s shoulder as if they’d known each other forever.

An unexpected pang of jealousy pierced Rob’s chest and he swallowed it back. He should be glad Jake and Cheung were comfortable with each other, and anyway, trauma tended to bring people together. After what they’d been through, any connection they made shouldn’t come as such a surprise.

“Looks like Jake’s found another friend,” Jonah said, dryly.

Rob ignored him and kept walking. He was working on recovering a little composure, a little proportion, and didn’t have time for Jonah’s bitterness. “Hey,” he said as he reached the group. 

Jake turned and gave him a soft grin. “Hey, yourself,” he said, his voice lowering, sounding too happy to see Rob.

Eric frowned and Rob wanted to step back, but he knew what it would look like, so he searched for a distraction and found it. He nodded at the plane, still in her makeshift berth. “How is she?”

“Everything’s fine. I was worried about the landing gear, but it all looks good. Chavez did a once over. I tried to tell him the chance of anyone planting a bomb was pretty slim. He’s really paranoid, isn’t he?” 

Jake was still smiling softly and Rob hoped he and Chavez hadn’t been dipping into the whiskey again. He looked around at the group. “Hey, why don’t you guys get inside and find a seat.” They moved off and when Jake started after them, Rob touched his elbow briefly, holding him back. He waited until the others were out of earshot, then said, “Jake, how much have you had to drink?”

Jake leaned in and said pointedly, “Zip, zilch, nada. I told you, I’m fine. I’m just glad to see you, that’s all.”

His warm breath smelled faintly of alcohol and Rob turned away, afraid that the urge to pull him close would get the better of him.

Like it had back in town, and he wanted to snarl at his own weak stupidity because holding Jake even briefly had been a mistake, he could see that now. His fingers and palms still felt odd and he could still feel the lean strength of Jake’s hips, the way his muscles had slid smoothly each time he’d taken a breath, each time he shifted from foot to foot. 

Rob turned away and clenched his hands, ruthlessly crushing the memory before it let him do something he’d regret.

“Are you okay?” Jake asked quietly.

“I’m fine, Jake. Just a little tired.” He began to walk down the hill towards the plane.

Jake followed closely. “What about Cheung? Is he going to be okay?” 

“His throat might have some permanent damage, but we won’t know until we get him home.” 

“That’s good— Oh, shit!” Jake grabbed Rob’s sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. “Jonah’s truck. I forgot about Jonah’s truck. We have to go—” 

He turned towards Scott City, but Rob stopped him. “Jake, it’s okay. Jonah and Emily already told me about it, back in town. It’s okay.”

Jake shook his head, insisting, “It’s not okay. Jonah can’t leave it here. He needs it.”

“Jake, listen.” He pulled Jake’s hand free and turned him around so they faced each other, carefully letting go as soon as he could. “The truck is almost out of fuel. They didn’t have time to hunt around for more, so they came with what they had.”

“How were they going to get home?”

“Eric’s plan was to get as far as they could, then beg, borrow or steal what they needed.”

“Did Jonah know that?”

“No, Emily didn’t tell him until they were halfway here.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t just turn around,” Jake muttered.

“So was Emily. She said he yelled for a while but kept going.” 

Jake nodded and ran a hand over his hair. “Damn that Eric. If he would’ve thought about it…” He broke off and looked straight into Rob’s eyes, as if he didn’t quite _get _what he was hearing.

Rob wanted to shake him—he’d run across this before and wondered why Jake felt so disconnected to the people around him, why he was almost embarrassed about the fact that people actually cared about him. Probably father issues. “You have a lot of folks that want the best for you, Jake, and they were willing to do a really crazy thing to get you back.”

Jake smiled, this time ruefully. “Like you.” He licked his lips and tilted his head. He was just a grey shadow in the grey light, but his eyes gleamed and he stared at Rob, almost as if he was waiting…

Rob said as lightly as he could, “Like me.” He stepped back, out of Jake’s orbit, trying to make the move casual and natural, not like he was retreating because his belly was hot with the need to reach up and grab the back of Jake’s neck and pull him down for a kiss. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s catch up.”

Jake nodded and they turned and walked to the plane, shoulder to shoulder. 

This was how it had been, Rob thought, after he and Johnston Green had rescued Eric and Jake from Constantino, from New Bern. Walking the long way home that night had been unexpectedly peaceful and Rob had felt a strange acceptance from Green and Eric that he hadn’t before. 

The New Bern situation had been solved and Jake’s friend, Maggie, was probably going to die, but Rob had let his worries rest because Jake had spent the entire journey at his side, listening to the few stories of Rob’s past that he could actually tell, sharing a few of his own. It had been a quiet moment after a hellish day, much like now.

Jake bumped Rob’s shoulder, catching his eye. He smiled as if he knew what Rob was thinking and Rob felt the warmth in his stomach unfurl and spread.

It was so dangerous, being with Jake like this. It made him want things he shouldn’t want. It made him think how wonderful it would be to have someone by his side that had his back through thick and thin, that had the same interests as he. And, came the cruel thought, it would be a comfort having someone in his bed that he didn’t have to lie _to _or lie _for_. 

He wanted it all, as Chavez had said just a few days ago, and it was getting harder and harder for him to remember why he should want his three-course meal over his cake.

It would help, he thought sourly, if his cake could manage to keep his hands to himself because when they reached the plane, Jake touched the back of Rob’s hand for no reason at all before hurrying off ahead of him, under and around the plane's nose. 

Rob followed slowly, trying to rub away the warm spot left by Jake’s fingers. When he got to the hatch, Chavez was standing there, waiting for him. He reached for Rob, saying as he pulled him up the steps, “Do I need to say it’s about time?”

“Chavez,” he said with a weary sigh, “right now, you can say anything you want.”

Chavez snorted. “Like that’s any fun.”

Rob peered into the cockpit. He could just make out Jake, in the pilot’s seat, going over the instruments. “It never is,” he said absently as he turned to make sure everyone was accounted for. Which they were, and he began to unfasten his gear. “You see what they did to Cheung?” He dragged off his backpack and handed it and the rifle to Chavez.

Chavez tossed the pack in the storage hold and placed the rifle in its case. “Yep.” He took Rob’s harness and belt. “I got hold of Beck, let him know we’re coming in, that we’ve got a wounded man.” He didn’t bite off the words, but Rob knew he was saving his swearing for later, when they had time to decompress and discuss.

“Good.” Rob was down to his weapons and he placed them carefully in the equipment bag, leaving the Glock in its holster. “How is he?” 

“Out. He said he felt good and that the swelling was getting better. I gave him a couple of your favorite knockout pills and a lot of water. The girl is with him.”

“Good, that’s good. You better get strapped in.” Rob turned towards the cockpit, then paused and looked back at Chavez. He held out his hand and they shook hands, sharing twin smiles of relief and satisfaction. 

In the cockpit, Jake was still reviewing the instruments and he nodded distractedly when Rob leaned into the small space. “So did I mess her up?” Rob asked.

“Nope, she looks good. You could have saved some fuel by not making that third pass,” Jake said, without looking up, “but she’s in good shape. She’s got some interesting modifications—where’d you get her?” When he hesitated too long, Jake looked up and met his eyes. “Don’t tell me—I don’t want to know, right?”

“Something like that.”

Jake shook his head. The cockpit light was harsh and bright after all that dark and Rob could see how tired he really was. His eyes were shadowed and red and he was squinting, just a little. He’d looked the same, just a few days ago, the night they rode in that ambulance to the Texan clinic. “Jake, you sure—”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jake interrupted before Rob could get started. “Anyway, the flight is short; we’ll be up and down in a few minutes.” He flipped a few switches and the engine caught and turned over.

Rob shrugged, and took the co-pilot’s seat. “How about you get her up, and I’ll bring her down?”

“I’m okay.”

“No, Jake, you’ve done enough. Let me and Chavez finish it up.”

And wonder of wonders, Jake didn’t argue. “Sure,” he said as he put on his headset and announced to the cabin, “Hey guys, we’ll be taking off in a few minutes, so everyone find a seat. Chavez, can you double check the hatch?” He busied himself with the controls and in a few minutes was steering the plane carefully onto the highway. 

The road north of town was in better shape than Hawkins would have thought, but still, Jake swore underneath his breath several times as the plane rocked and shimmied every time they ran over a rough spot.

They had to taxi for a while and just when Rob was thinking they were never going to find enough clean road to take off, Jake announced over the headset, “Okay, this is it. It’s not going to be pretty so make sure your seatbelts are secure and tight. That means you, Jonah.” 

Rob chuckled and Jake met his look with a sly smile.

And then they got going. The engine whined higher and the small plane began moving faster and faster, trying to jump up every few seconds.

_‘Not pretty’ _was an understatement, Rob thought, as Jake suddenly jerked the controls to miss a fault in the road. The plane shuddered and pitched, but Jake held her steady and suddenly they were up.

Rob fell back in his seat and took a deep breath. He was so glad he didn’t have to do that. “You are one hell of a pilot, Jake Green.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Let me take over?”

“Not yet. Give me a minute.” He checked the radar, then the GPS. He waited another moment, then said, “I’ve already set the auto-pilot for the old airfield on Jonah’s compound, but don’t be in a hurry to take her in.”

Rob had to smile at his tone—it was rare that someone actually had the nerve to tell him what to do anymore. It was nice.

“The field is a mess, but the runway was in decent shape last time I was out there and you should have more than enough room for a good landing. It’ll probably be a piece of cake, after your last one.” 

Rob nodded. “How are the runway lights?”

“There aren’t any. But,” he said with a smile as he leaned over and touched Rob’s thigh when Rob opened his mouth to object, “Don’t worry, Jonah keeps his floodlights on to discourage visitors. Meaning his paranoia is our luck. Here…” He took off his headset and stood up, making room so Rob could slip around behind him.

They did an awkward dance as they changed seats and like something from one of those ridiculous romantic comedies, the plane tipped just at the wrong moment and Rob found himself with an armful. Telling himself not to do it even while he was, he pulled Jake against his chest and leaned in. It was only an instant, really, but that instant froze and crystallized as if it would go on forever.

It didn’t, of course. Time resumed, they parted, and Rob slid into the pilot’s seat, his heart beating far too fast

He didn’t want to look over at Jake, but he couldn’t help himself. Jake’s face was red and he was paying too much attention to his side of the controls. He had a small smile on his lips that made Rob look away quickly.

“Everything okay in here?” Chavez leaned into the cockpit. He had that look again, the blank one that told Rob he wasn’t fooling anybody.

“Yeah, we were just getting settled. Jake? Why don’t you go rest in the back.”

Jake frowned. He wanted to refuse, Rob could see it, but there was no good reason now that the plane was in the air. Finally he nodded and left without a word. 

Chavez took the co-pilot’s seat and glanced over at Rob.

Pretending to check the attitude, Rob said, “Don’t even say it.”

“You want me to shut up about a lot of things these days, don’t you?”

Rob had about a half dozen good replies to that, but he kept his mouth closed. He was tired, hungry and still feeling the effects of holding Jake—anything he said right now would be disproportionately harsh. “We’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Did you notify the hospital?”

“Yep, and a Dr. Dhuwalia is up and waiting. You sure we can trust him?”

“No, but there’s no one else. Can you hang out at the hospital?”

“Yeah.”

“What about Beck?”

“Beck is also up and waiting. He said he got a call from your wife yesterday evening. She’s worried about you.”

Rob nodded and glanced at Chavez, saying nothing, daring him to bring up the fact that he hadn’t contacted Darcy in almost twenty-four hours.

“How’re you getting the plane back to Columbus?” 

It was a deliberate change of subject, and Rob was grateful for it. “Haven’t thought of that.”

Chavez raised one eyebrow. “Should I contact Charles?”

“No. He knows who took the plane. I’ll call when we get home. And,” Rob added, with a sideways grin, “I’ll say I kidnapped you so you won’t get in trouble.”

Chavez rolled his eyes. “Please. Like he’s gonna buy that. No, don’t worry about me. If you go down, I go down.” He stilled and thought about what he just said, then choked out a laugh.

Rob tried to interrupt a few times and finally gave up—Chavez was sniggering too hard to pay attention. It wasn’t that funny, but Chavez usually went through a punchy stage right after a mission. Which meant Rob could look forward to about two day’s worth of horrible puns and jokes.

By the time they reached the small bluffs that surrounded Jericho, Chavez had stopped chuckling long enough to help with the landing procedure. Rob took the plane off autopilot and steered her around—he wanted to fly over the town even though it was out of their way.

In the half-light of dawn, Jericho’s streetlights were dim but he could clearly see Main Street and a contingent of military equipment gathered in front of the town hall. He thought a few of the buildings had taken some sort of heavy rounds, but they flew by too fast to see clearly. 

Stanley Richmond’s farm was next and his heart sank when they got closer. He knew the damage from the conflict with New Bern had been extensive, but seen from the air? A good portion of the fields were destroyed, flattened by heavy equipment and here and there, large circular black spots dotted the land, the result of mortar fire.

“That farm is toast,” Chavez muttered, all traces of humor gone. He was looking out the window and didn’t see Rob’s angry glance.

Rob tightened his lips and concentrated on turning the plane northeast to the tiny airfield. The town, _his _town, was in bad shape and as soon as he had the time, he’d see what he could do to help. And if he had his way about it, Chavez would be right there with him, patching up brickwork, planting new crops of corn.

The thought lightened his spirits and when he nosed the plane around into its final approach, his dark mood was gone.

The field, as Jake had said, was small and trashed, but Jonah’s lights were bright and clearly showed the intact runway. Unless there was some mishap, he’d bring her in fine. Which he did—not as smoothly as he’d like, but a hell of a lot better than he had on the road a few hours earlier.

Without waiting for Rob to finish his taxi, Chavez got up, saying something about helping Cheung. Rob nodded and looked around for a place to stow the plane. The compound was full of scattered vehicles, planes, and farm equipment.

“She’s too big for my hangers. Just tuck her right in there.” Rob turned to find Jonah leaning in the cockpit, pointing to a dark area between two large storage units. “I’ve got some cammo material. We’ll hide her that way.”

“Thanks, Jonah.” Rob carefully guided the plane in and turned off the systems. Then he took off his headset, dropped his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes. 

Behind him he could hear the cabin door opening, could hear the group making all the usual noises that people made when they deplaned. He didn’t move. He was finally coming down and he was dizzy and lethargic with fatigue. All he wanted was to sleep for about a hundred years. Here in this seat, preferably. 

“Hey,” Jake said softly in his ear. “You gonna sleep there?”

Rob didn’t open his eyes. Like before, Jake’s breath was warm, his voice soft and low. “If you’ll let me.”

“Not a chance. In about thirty minutes you’ll be in your own bed for the first time in what, two weeks?”

And just the thought gave Rob the strength to open his eyes and push out of the seat. “I should be saying that to you. You’ve had it a lot harder than me. How’s your head?”

Jake gave him a puzzled smile. “How’d you know?”

“Just did.” There was no way he was going to say that when it came to Jake, he was far too aware, far too concerned. He gently edged by, then collected his backpack and headed for the door. 

He clambered down the steps, feeling stiff and old, but the air revived him and he took a deep, appreciative breath—solid ground on his feet, a successful mission, and Jake at his side. And then he remembered why that wasn’t a good thing and he said to Jake, “Go on, let me lock her up.” With a reluctant nod, Jake left. Rob slowly keyed in the alarm, then did a superficial inspection and followed.

Jonah was waiting for him in a mottled red truck that had seen better days. Emily and Cheung were in the front, Eric and Jake in the bed. Chavez was by the tailgate with the equipment back at his feet. When Rob clambered up, he hesitated, then sat next to Eric, ignoring Jake’s frown. Chavez watched them all, his head cocked, his expression blank.

And then Jonah started up the truck and with a jerk, they pulled out of the compound.

The early morning was cool and fresh but when they turned onto the county road and picked up speed, the cool became cold. Rob leaned around Eric to find Jake, curled up, his bare arms wrapped around his chest.

Knowing what Chavez would think, Rob said a silent, _‘Screw it,’ _and took off his jacket. He leaned around Eric again and held the jacket out. Jake shook his head, but Rob was ready for him. He gave Jake a look that said, _Don’t be an idiot, _and after a second, Jake took the coat.

“Sorry, wait…” And Rob reached again, grabbing his cell, the GPS locator, and his keys.

“Is that how you found us?” Jake nodded to the locator as he pulled on the jacket.

Rob had been hoping that this conversation wouldn’t happen—Jake was touchy about his authority at the best of times. He wasn’t going to like finding out about Rob’s little insurance plan. “Yeah.”

“Where was the chip?”

“In the cell phone I gave you.” 

And he waited for Jake to fly off the handle, waited for him to protest that he thought Rob trusted him, but, like so many times in the past few days, he surprised Rob. He merely nodded and said, “It was a good idea, thanks.”

Chavez snorted. Eric huffed. And Rob, coward that he was, wrapped his arms around his chest and pretended to fall asleep.

And he did, somewhere between Jonah’s compound and Jericho. He woke up briefly when they pulled up to the hospital, then dropped back when Jake touched his shoulder and whispered, “Don’t get up.”

And then again when they stopped in front of Bailey’s Tavern. He cracked his eyes open when Jake and Eric got out and exchanged heated, unintelligible words at the front door. He would have gotten up because the last thing he needed was a fight between the Green boys, but he was too tired and he said another silent, _‘Screw it,’_ and fell back asleep. 

The next time he woke up, he was resting against something solid and warm and they were just coming to a stop in front of a house that he thought he should recognize, but didn’t. And then he realized where he was, who he was leaning on, and he pushed away from Jake, then to his knees. He swayed there for a moment while his head cleared, until he was able to scramble over the side and grab his pack. He didn’t feel like making conversation, but it would be rude not to acknowledge Jonah and Emily’s part. He peered through Emily’s window and said, “Thank you for your help, both of you.”

“No, Mr. Hawkins,” Emily touched his hand. “Jake wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.” 

Jonah peered around Emily and added, “And don’t worry about your plane—I’ll make sure none of my guys touch her.” 

Rob smiled wryly and reached around Emily to shake Jonah’s hand. “I appreciate that. If you have any fuel, we need to talk. Later. Good night.” He turned to the house.

And wasn’t even through the gate when Jake whispered, “Wait!” He vaulted out of the truck and jogged up to Rob, already frowning. “Were you just going to go? Just like that?”

Rob didn’t have time to answer. With one hand on the small of his back, Jake herded him through the gate and up the walk to the house. The porch was dark, made darker by the big pines that bordered the yard and the bushes not ten feet away. Jake shot a quick glance to the street, then pushed Rob back again so that they were hidden from view.

Rob’s tired, contrary, heart stuttered, then began to pound thickly in his ears. “Jake,” he said, unsure of what to say. After that day back in San Antonio, he’d thought of nothing else but what was going on between them. And now that Jake was right here, not five inches away, he didn’t know what to do, what to say.

The only thing he _did _know was that they couldn’t have this conversation, not now. Even though his marriage was precarious and shaky and maybe over. Even though he wanted Jake like fire. It would be careless and cruel and he wasn’t careless and cruel. Not anymore.

He must have made some invisible protest because Jake held up his hand and said, “No. I mean, you always seem to be saving me, and I don’t know how…” He trailed off and ran his hand through his hair, as if he too were stumbling through a maze, trying to find his way out.

“Seems to me you’ve save my ass a couple times, so we’re even, right?”

Jake straightened up and said very quiet, very direct, “Is that all you want, because I don’t.”

“Jake, I don’t know what you’re getting at.” Which was a lie and a half. He was, for Christ’s sake, _nervous, _something he hardly ever was anymore.

“It’s just…” Jake hesitated again, then took Rob’s hand and began playing with his fingers. Rob’s heart jerked again and sweat broke out on the back of his neck. At this rate he was going to have a heart attack and the whole situation would be settled without him. “You said some things, back in Texas, and I’ve been thinking about them. A lot.”

Conscious of the truck idling at the curb, the house behind him, Rob reached out and lay his fingers on Jake’s arm and it was crazy, but he thought he felt a spark race through the circle they made—from his heart down to Jake’s hand, through Jake’s body and back to his own. “Jake,” he whispered roughly, “yeah, I said some things. Things I meant. Things I’ve been thinking about, also. I just…” He stopped, then glanced at the house, then back at Jake.

Jake nodded, in sync, as always. He gripped Rob’s hand almost too tightly. “I need about twenty-four hours sleep. Then I’ll probably need to be in the office for another forty-eight—” He gently pulled Rob’s hand off his arm and did something to Rob’s palm that shouldn’t be so erotic but it was, then let go.

Rob nodded shortly and said, “I’ll find you.”

Jake smiled and turned to go without another word. Like a fool, Rob watched him walk away with that long stride of his, watched him get in the truck next to Emily, wishing things were different, wishing that when he opened the door behind him, Jake could simply follow him inside. 

He sighed again and unlocked the door. 

Inside the air smelled musty and stale, as if it had been days since a window or door had been opened. Rob dropped his bag in the entryway, for once not bothering to stow it out of sight and reach of the kids.

_Be careful what you wish, _he thought with a dead kind of shock. But still, because he had to make sure, he walked to the foot of the stairs and called out, “Darcy? Allie?” and wasn’t too surprised when he didn’t receive an answer.

 

———————

 

The sense of shifting realities were so strong that Jake kept closing his eyes then opening them again to assure himself that, yes, he was in Jericho, not Cheyenne, or Texas, or southern Kansas. Yes, he was back home, back where he belonged, and he swallowed away the emotion and looked around in sudden thankfulness. 

The sun was just touching the treetops and Jim Evans was up, carefully watering the stumps that would eventually be the roses he took such pride in. One block down, the Peterson kids were already running around outside, making too much noise for this early in the morning and Jake supposed he’d find a report about them when he got to the office. They were a raucous bunch and tended not to listen to their mom.

It was all so normal, except it really wasn’t. Just over a week ago, a nuclear bomb that could wipe out everyone within a thirty-mile radius was on its way to Cheyenne. A week ago Rob and Jake had hijacked that very same bomb and made a crazy dash to deliver it into safe hands. 

And four days ago he’d overheard a conversation that he was still hearing, still _living, _and the euphoria he’d been pushing away ever since he said goodbye to Rob, crept up and he smiled.

The whole thing was like something out of a novel or a movie, except the black guy didn’t die and Jake didn’t get the girl. He snorted at the thought and then nodded when Emily laid her hand on his arm and asked a mute, _‘Are you okay?’_

When they pulled up to his parent’s house, he got out. Emily followed. Jake, exhausted, still smiling at nothing, should have expected it, but he didn’t and when she leaned in and kissed him, he—

—did nothing. He stood there, stiff and unresponsive until she dropped her arms and stepped away. He shrugged with a kind of helplessness and muttered, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Emily said steadily. She’d taken off her cap and her fair hair caught the light breeze, the new sun. She looked so beautiful and Jake remembered why he’d fallen in love with her, all those years ago. 

Only that was so long ago and he’d changed. He shrugged again inside Rob’s warm coat, searching for something to say. “Thanks for helping Eric…” 

She frowned. “You don’t need to thank me, Jake. Well…” She laughed and looked over at her father. “Maybe Jonah, but not me.” 

“Still, it was really great, what you guys did.” He tightened his lips and forced himself to shut up. He made it sound like all she’d done was pick him up after his car had broken down outside of town or something, not risk her own life to save him and a man she’d never met.

“No, that’s okay…” Emily did that thing with her hands, the waving thing she did when she was upset or nervous, and then she gave Jake a lightning quick hug before hurrying back to the truck. Where Jonah was waiting with a familiar look of disgust. He shook his head at Jake, then put the truck in gear and drove off. Emily didn’t look back.

Jake stood on the parking, at a dead stop. He knew he couldn’t stand there all day and worry about how he was going to screw up Emily’s life, again, but he couldn’t seem to make his legs move.

Luckily, he didn’t have to stand there for long. The front door opened with a bang and a small figure rushed out. He turned, took a deep, glad breath and hurried up the walk to meet his mom.

“Jake!” She ran down the steps and grabbed him tight, hugging him so hard the few bruises he still had ached just a little. “Eric called and said you were on the way. Oh, honey…” 

She pushed him back and looked him over as if she had x-ray vision and was cataloging all his hurts, visible and invisible. And maybe she did—she’d always the unique ability to know when he was hurt but okay, and when he was hurt but at the edge of a precipice, about to fall. “Mom,” he said, his voice breaking, “it’s good to see you.” 

Her face crumpled and she reached up again and enfolded him and he leaned into her. She smelled of lavender soap just like always, just as she had back at that hog farm when she’d wrapped her arms around him, using her own strength to give him his. The memory hurt and he buried his face his her shoulder and squeezed harder.

She held him for a long moment, then pushed him away again. Her cheeks were wet with tears and she cradled his face between her two warm hands. “Have you eaten?”

“No, I just want to sleep.”

She nodded and turned him to the house. “All right. I’ve got fresh sheets on your bed. You sleep as long as you want, honey. I’ll make sure no one wakes you.”

She guided him up the stairs with one hand on his back. At the door, she gave him another kiss, then pushed him in and shut the door firmly.

He managed to take his boots off then stumbled to the bed. He didn’t want to get the clean sheets dirty, so he didn’t bother with the covers. He fell, turned onto his side and curled around a pillow. And slept.

***

At first he slept fitfully, nightmares of running figures and gunfire making him jerk and shout, but each time, a cool hand stroked his cheek and a soft voice urged him back down, saying, _‘Hush, go back to sleep.’_ 

***

He woke up slowly, fuzzily taking in the familiar plaid-covered chair and the matching curtains. His mom had never redecorated after he’d left for college, and the shelves and walls were filled with the things he’d been passionate about when he was in his teens. 

He should ask her if she wanted him to get rid of some of the junk, but just the thought of packing everything up made him tired all over again and he fell into a heavy doze, half aware that someone came in and sat next to him. He struggled to wake, but like before, the person stroked his cheek and said, _‘Hush,’ _and he fell back asleep.

***

The third time Jake woke, he woke for good. He turned over. It was dark outside and his old clock radio said it was almost nine—he thought he’d have slept longer, but anything more than ten or eleven hours was better than nothing. 

He pushed back the covers and swung his legs out of bed, only then realizing that he’d been stripped to his shorts and tucked into bed. He smelled his armpit, then sighed. He’d also been washed. It had to be his mom—once a nurse, always a nurse.

Still, he staggered to the shower and let the hot water sluice over his body, waking up his body as well as his mind. He washed slowly, examining the bruises still scattered here and there. From what he could see and feel, most of them were fading. His wrists were swollen, but he figured that was to be expected. At least they didn’t hurt anymore.

He took his time shaving. When he was done he tossed the razor in the sink and arched his back, stretching his arms, his spine. He felt good, whole, ready to take on the world. Or at least his small part of it, and he wondered what was waiting for him at the office.

His mom must have heard him get up because when he got back to his room, he found a neat pile of clean clothes on the bed. He smiled—she’d even scrubbed his boots.

He dressed slowly and headed downstairs. The house was dark and still. When he got to the living room, he could hear voices in the kitchen. He didn’t really want to talk to anyone, but it was too late—his mom would have heard him come down.

When he pushed the door open, he found his mom, Eric, Emily, Heather, Stanley, and Mimi, all huddled around the table. They stopped talking and looked up at him in surprise. He looked around and asked, “How’s Cheung?”

They broke out, all talking at once. His mom said that Cheung was fine, Eric said something about the hospital, and Heather hurried over and gave him a messy hug, her eyes shining. Followed by Stanley and Mimi. Eric and Emily stayed seated and Jake remembered he had some fence-mending to do there. 

His mom waited until they were done, then pushed Jake into a chair and sat a plate of food in front of him. It was beef, corn, and a green salad. Jake wanted to ask where she’d gotten the steak, but like a switch had been flipped, he was suddenly ravenous. He picked up a fork and knife and began to eat.

He wolfed the beef down, one bit after another. When he came up for air, he looked around the table. They were all silent, staring at him. He grinned and said, “Jeez, guys, I’m fine. I’m not going to explode or anything.”

They all laughed at that, even Eric. His mom patted him on the arm and said, “We know, honey, we’re just glad you’re here. We all—” She blinked several times, then stood up and said to the group, “Why don’t we pick up tomorrow.” She gathered up a pile of papers scattered on the table. “We can meet back here around seven, right after dinner?” It wasn’t a question. They stood up and filed out, saying their goodbyes as they passed behind him.

When Stanley walked by, he bent over and whispered, “Don’t blame me, man, it wasn’t my idea.”

Jake twisted to look up at him. Stanley rolled his eyes and started to speak but Mimi grabbed his arm and said, “Stanley!” She pulled him out the door before he could say anything else.

Jake turned back around. “What is all this?” He nodded to the papers in his mom’s hand, then started in on the corn.

“Oh, nothing.”

Jake stopped eating. He knew that tone. It meant she had something to tell him that she didn’t want to tell him. “Mom?”

“I thought I’d wait until tomorrow, since we haven’t really even thought it through. But,” she hesitated, then poured a cup of coffee and sat down across from Jake, “as long as you’re up— “ She sighed and said, “The kids want to give you a parade, Jake.”

Jake frowned as he tried to make sense of the words. Like an idiot he almost blurted out, _‘For what?’ _and then he got it. He put down his fork and leaned back. “No.”

“Jake—”

“Mom, _no._” He stood up, pushing the chair back so hard it hit the cabinet behind him. “No. I… I can’t even… That’s crazy. Mom,” he sat down next to her, “what I did… It wasn’t heroic and I wasn’t brave. I was scared to death. If it wasn’t for Rob—”

“Mr. Hawkins?”

“Yeah,” Jake acknowledged absently, “He was the one that kept me going and told me what to do. Without him, I—” He reached for her shoulder and said, this time with quiet finality, “Mom, no.”

His mom nodded and patted his hand. “I thought so. When Emily told me about it a few days ago I said you wouldn’t want it. But I had to try, Jake. They’re all so proud of you and not just because of what you did for your friend.” She patted his hand again. “The whole town— Somehow word got out about the bomb and I’ve been getting calls every day, thanking you for the sacrifice you made.”

Jake leaned back and shook his head. “Mom, it wasn’t a sacrifice. Anyone would’ve done what I did, and I don’t deserve a party for doing the right thing.”

She was quiet for a long moment before saying thoughtfully, “You sound like your father. He would have said that very same thing. I wish he was here.” She cleared her throat and sipped her coffee.

Jake swallowed back the easy tears and said, “Me too.”

There was a long pause, then she nodded towards his plate. “Go on, there are seconds.”

He picked up his fork, not hungry anymore. “Yeah, that’d be great.” He pushed the corn from one side of the plate to the other.

“I better call Emily before she does anymore planning.” She stood up. “She’s called a half dozen times in the last few days—she was really worried about you. There’s cake in the fridge. It’s good to have you back, honey—you need a haircut.” She kissed the top of his head, then left him alone with the rest of his dinner and his confusion.

He tried to imagine what it would be like to ride down Main Street in a flower-covered moat or in the back of a convertible with the town cheering on the sidelines… It was ridiculous. And embarrassing. And Stanley had known what Jake would say—that smirk had said it all. 

But how could anyone imagine he would want a parade to celebrate stopping a city full of people from being destroyed? 

Just the heart-pounding memory of flying into Texas with the F-15s on his tail, worried that he was going to fail and the country would drop into further chaos; the memory of seeing Cheung hanging from a tree for being the wrong race at the wrong time…

Who’d ever want to celebrate _that? _

What he really felt like doing was going back to bed and hiding for another few days until the dark images began to fade. Until he could face his friends, knowing what they thought of him. Until he could figure out what to do about Emily and Eric, about Rob. He finished his salad and pushed the plate away, not in the mood for dessert.

With that sixth sense she always had, his mom popped in just when he got up to clear his dishes. “No cake?”

“No, I thought I’d go down to the office.”

“Jake, it’s almost ten; why don’t you go back to bed and sleep for a while. The work will still be there tomorrow.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got to catch up on the last week.” He washed the plate, then set it in the drainer to dry. There was a lot of work to do; he’d planned on reviewing the incident reports first, but maybe he should get together with Bill and Jimmy before that, just to get caught up on the general news. 

“You mean the last two weeks.”

He didn’t understand at first. “What?” He turned, dishes forgotten.

“What day do you think it is?”

“Uh…” Jake ran back the days. “The twenty-first? May twenty-first?”

She took the plate from him and sat it in the drainer. “It’s the twenty-fourth, honey. You slept for three days.”

Jake’s mouth dropped open in shock. No wonder he felt so good.

“I was worried about you so I asked Kenchy to come over.” She nudged him out of the way to finish the dishes. “He said you were fine, that it was just the combination of the…” She hesitated, then continued, “It was the torture, dehydration and extreme stress.” She wiped her hands on a towel and handed it to him.

Jake dried his hands. It seemed impossible that he could’ve slept that long and not known it. He hung up the towel and turned to lean against the countertop. “Did I miss anything?”

His mom leaned next to him, elbow to elbow. She shook her head, saying to the floor, “Not much. Your friend, Cheung, called and Mr. Hawkins came by yesterday.” 

“He did?”

“Hmm-mm. Apparently, he was out of town for a few days. He called your cell several times and was worried when he didn’t hear from you. He got in last night and came by. I told him you were okay, but he insisted on seeing you for himself.” Her voice was carefully neutral—too neutral. There was another something that she wasn’t saying. “I invited him for dinner, but he couldn’t stay. Emily says his wife and family are back with Jimmy. That their marriage is over.” She looked up at Jake, this time with a question in her eyes. “Eric says you might know something about that?”

Jake’s heart jerked and he shook his head, lying, “Why would I know anything about that?”

His mom just looked at him and said reproachfully, “Jake.”

And he was on the other side of the room, back to his mom. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom.” He picked up the saltshaker and tilted it back and forth, not watching the grains slide around.

“Honey…” 

He kept his back to her and waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he looked over his shoulder. 

She was standing there, still leaning against the countertop, studying her shoes. Finally, she looked up and her keen stare made him flush and look away again. 

She said quietly, “I never told you this, but there were a lot of things I learned about myself when April and Eric broke up. I learned that I can be stubborn and shortsighted. I learned that I can jump the gun. Mostly, I learned that what I expect, what I _hope_ for, might never happen. And that’s okay, that’s life.” She paused, then said softly out of the blue, “You and I never talked about what happened with you and that Cafferty boy.”

Carefully, Jake sat the saltshaker down. His first reaction was to throw it across the room as hard as he could. But it had been his great-grandmother’s—his mom would kill him if he broke it. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Okay, then we won’t talk about it. But Jake,” she came to stand next to him and gently, firmly, turned him around and held his jaw, searching his face, “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Mr. Hawkins—” 

Jake tried to pull free, but she held on, “No. I was going to say, I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m not sure I like it, but I trust you to make the right decision. You’re an adult. It’s your life.” She let him go, then went back to the table and sat down with a sigh. “I just never thought I’d have two sons involved in extra-marital affairs, that’s all.”

Jake’s head ached and he rubbed his forehead, wishing he could rub away the last five minutes. This conversation had come way too early, considering… Well, considering everything. But that was his mom—always saying her piece even if he wasn’t ready to hear it. 

Needing some time alone, he said, “I’m going to lay down.”

She picked up her cup and cradled it in her hands. “That’s good, honey.”

He was almost to the door when she said matter-factly, to no one in particular, “At least it’s not Mitchell Cafferty. Your father would be happy about that.”

“Mom!”

She just shrugged and he fled before she could say anything else.

By the time he got to his room, his head was pounding. He fell on the bed and tried not to replay the conversation. It was no use—her words   kept resounding, especially the, _‘…you and that Cafferty boy.’_ 

He groaned and turned over on his side and grabbed the pillow, wishing he could grab his thoughts as well, grab them and stop them from spinning.

The talk did, however, answer one question: Eric must have seen something and put two and two together, although what that something was, Jake didn’t have a clue. There was nothing _to _see, and that was the hell of it.

Here he was, being accused of something that hadn’t even happened. _Yet, _he corrected, because one thing was clear—he still wanted Rob, now more than ever. And his wanting _wasn’t_ the product of stress as he’d supposed just days ago—like a line from point A to B, it was simple, steady, and focused.

And that was a new one for him because the last few years, hell, the last _ten, _had been a confusion—confusion over what he wanted out of life, _who_ he wanted to spend it with. He’d been mostly okay with all that if only because he knew his aimlessness had pissed off his father.

But in the last few months he’d felt his life taking shape, bit by bit, until he could almost see some sort of definition, almost see a path. If someone had told him back when he was nineteen that he would end up as the town sheriff, he would have laughed until he puked. And then he would’ve jumped them for even suggesting such a thing.

When he came back home he hadn’t expected to stay. Get the money and get out, that was the plan. But circumstances had stepped in and now, almost nine months later, he was starting to wonder if it was circumstance or fate. What were the odds of his deciding to come home, on that particular day? 

And then leaving when he did—if he’d skipped the argument with his father, he’d have left an hour earlier and would have made it well past the Colorado border and got caught in the Denver blast.

It made his head hurt, thinking of all the possible _‘would haves,’ _but it didn’t quiet the voice that said it was fate, not circumstance. And if his life had been spared by fate, what did it save him for? Emily?

He scrubbed his forehead again and rolled to face the ceiling. It was all too much, all this thinking about fate and destiny and paths.

Rob would understand, he thought with sudden clarity. 

Jake wasn’t sure if Rob believed in fate—they hadn’t delved deeply into any subject and there was a hell of a lot Jake didn’t know about him, but one thing he did know—if Rob was here, lying right next to him, he’d tell him that fate was all well and good but it was what a man did _next _that defined him.

He smiled at the thought, almost hearing the soft-spoken words, almost seeing the way Rob’s face, gentle with unshakeable understanding. And then he stopped smiling as lust blindsided him—if Rob were lying right here, right now, the last thing Jake would be doing was talking.

He covered his eyes with his arm and imagined it—the bed was small for two grown men, but they’d make do because they wouldn’t care. They’d use the bed, the floor, even Jake’s old rickety desk that would probably give way when Rob pushed him back on it. Jake would spread his legs, holding tight to the desk’s edges because Rob would use his tongue and teeth, biting his way down Jake’s chest, past his belly, down to his cock…

He smothered his groan with his arm, hoping his mom was still downstairs and hadn’t heard because he’d never be able to explain to her this feeling of burning up, lying here on his childhood bed, in his childhood room… 

Without making a conscious decision, he rolled over and found his old cell. It took him a moment to remember the number, then he quickly punched the keys. As he waited for Rob to pick up, a fine tremor set under the surface of skin, in the center of his stomach, and he muttered, “C’mon, c’mon—”

The phone clicked through. His dick hardened and he sprang up off the bed and began to pace. 

“Jake?” 

Jake swallowed and couldn’t answer.

“I know that’s you, are—”

“Yeah, yeah… It’s me.”

“Are you all right?” Rob’s voice was deep and hushed and the shaking got worse. 

“I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. He was suffocating in the room that was only a reminder of the things he used to want, used to be. He wanted something different, something new, something better. “Can you go for a drive?” Rob hesitated long enough that Jake’s heart twisted in his chest and he hurriedly said, “Never mind, I just—”

“No, it’s okay. I was just worried about you, when you didn’t wake up. Your mom said you did that before when you were a kid. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jake ignored the concern, ignored the question. “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

Rob said slowly, “All right.”

Jake hung up without saying goodbye. He grabbed Rob’s jacket and the keys to the Road Runner. He thought about taking his gun, said a mental, ‘_Fuck it,’ _and practically shot out the door. 

His mom, of course, heard him coming down the hall and was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. He clattered down, hoping she didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, wishing his shirt was a little longer.

He ignored her raised eyebrow and said quickly before she could speak, “I’m going out for a while. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Don’t wait up.” He kissed her cheek and didn’t wait for an answer.

Being outside was like being able to breathe again and he was almost smiling when he unlocked the car door. He got in and tossed the jacket on the back seat and turned the key.

The car snarled to life and the noise echoed something wild inside his chest and he wanted to tear out of the drive, but his mom would be watching, so he backed out sedately. As soon as he was around the corner and down the block, he hit the gas. The Road Runner’s mutter leaped to a snarl and Jake’s smile broadened into a grin as the cares of the last few months began to vacate his heart, leaving a hollowness that echoed, ‘_At last, at last, at last…’_

Rob’s porch light was on and he was locking up when Jake screeched to a stop at the curb. Even with the distance and the dark, he could see Rob start and shake his head, but he didn’t care about that. What he did care about, suddenly, was that Rob was dressed in a good leather jacket that Jake had never seen before and pants that weren’t jeans. Jake looked down at his own ripped jeans, his t-shirt with the hole in the side from that fight with Mitch. Oh, well, he thought, as Rob opened the door and slid in—too late now. 

He nodded without looking over and put the car in drive and took off. East, through what used to be the nice part of town, taking the corners and curves with smooth precision until he got to the junction of Elm and County Road T. He turned north, checked both ways, then let her go.

He picked up speed until they were flying, keeping it under seventy-five, but just barely. And God, he’d missed this, those years he’d been in self-exile—pulse racing, one hand on the wheel, the other on the seat’s back, thinking of nothing as the dark fields flew by.

They’d gone a handful of miles when Rob finally opened his mouth. Jake got ready for the, _‘Slow down, Jake, we’ll get there when we get there,’ _or the, _‘Do you really want to die out here, after all we’ve been through?’_ but all he said was, “Where are we going?” 

His voice was quiet, flat, and Jake hoped that only meant that he was as sex-crazy as Jake and not thinking of some excuse why this wasn’t going to happen. “To a place I know.”

“Ah.”

Jake reached over and touched Rob’s shoulder and nodded. “Yeah.”

And that was all they said as they flew north, then east, then north again. They were over the train tracks and up the hill towards the Granger’s farm before he realized that he’d missed the turnoff. He hit the brakes, then made a ragged three-point turn, explaining, “Haven’t been here in a while.”

Rob smiled, finally. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“A good thing.” Jake gave Rob a sideways glance. “Definitely a good thing.”

Rob smiled again, then touched Jake’s hand where it rested on the seat and any concerns melted away.

The road he was looking for was about a mile off the county road, at the bottom of a steep hill. He had a momentary worry that the area had been destroyed by the military, but when he drove down the hill and turned left around a stand of cottonwoods, there it was, like magic: a small, green valley complete with trees and a narrow stream.

When he was very young his father had taken him fishing here. He’d told Jake the story of how the area was formed a long time ago and that the stream bubbling up from nowhere was actually a fork of the Rogue, traveling all that way underground. They hadn’t caught any fish, but Jake had enjoyed the story.

When he got older he discovered that the spot was used for things besides fishing but he never told his father about those trips. By then they were having weekly fights and the valley had became a refuge from his family and his life. 

It was the first place he’d taken a girl—Jenna-somebody or other— the place where he and Emily had broken up, years later. He’d even brought Mitchell here, the week he’d left for Embry-Riddle, but that had been just a few times, and he never liked to think on them.

The place was still pretty, even in the dark, and he drove down the dirt road that ran left of the river, glad to see nothing had changed. Same trees and thick bushes that lined the bank. Same large flat rock where the high-school kids liked to hang out because they could stick their beer in the stream to keep cool. And there, on the left under three close-growing trees that formed a kind of cave, was the space that Jake had tagged as his own.

Memories of the times he spent under those trees flooded in and his dick reacted predictably. He shifted in his seat and glanced quickly at Rob.

Who wasn’t looking anywhere but out the window. Jake swallowed back a nervous cough and made a sharp right, then backed in so they were under the trees, facing the river. He cut the engine and scanned the area.

If it was a normal Friday or Saturday night, there would be kids all over the place, but the strict curfew had forced them all indoors. Lucky for the kids because he was feeling a little out of control and he’d probably run them off with his a tire iron if he had to.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the seat rest. Now that he was here he wasn’t sure what to do. He’d never been all that smooth with girls, even though he’d had more than his share. 

After their first real date, Emily had told him that her friends all thought he was sexy because he was mysterious and unapproachable. He’d answered it was because he just didn’t care. That if one girl didn’t want to go for a drive to the valley, there’d be another that did. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, wanting to groan at his old self—he’d been _such _an asshole back then, and maybe he was going to learn first hand that Karma was a bitch because this thing he was trying to get going with Rob? It was important and he didn’t want to fuck it up.

He opened his mouth to say a little bit of what was in his heart, even though he really didn’t know what to say or how to say it, but Rob got there first, “My wife left me, Jake. Again.” He didn’t look over, just stared out the windshield. “She’s staying over at Jimmy’s, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Jake tightened his lips because it looked like he was still an asshole—he’d completely forgot what his mom had said about Darcy. He shrugged and asked tentatively, “Do you _want_ to do something about it?”

“I—” Rob shook his head. “I don’t know, and that’s the honest to God truth.” 

Which wasn’t what he was expecting. He told the part of him that was hurt to shut up and reminded himself that the world didn’t turn on his expectations, that he wouldn’t even _want _Rob if he were the kind of man who dumped people right and left. Still… 

He twisted in the seat, turning as much as the steering wheel allowed—he wanted to reach out but didn’t. Rob was squinting now, peering out at the river like it was a complicated puzzle and his distraction was a wall Jake couldn’t cross.

Rob whispered, “In fact, it’s all I’ve been thinking about, these last three days.” And then he breathed a laugh that wasn’t a laugh and added, “Well, that, and you. I’m so tired, Jake. So tired of this endless struggle with Darcy, with my employers. I just want…” He trailed off and shook his head again, almost like he was trying to shake something loose.

Jake did reach out then. He touched Rob’s shoulder and Rob turned to him, face drawn. Jake let his touch harden to a comforting grip because it was the only thing he could offer. He couldn’t say, _Don’t worry about me, this doesn’t have to happen _or _Forget about your marriage, just be with me. _Neither was honest and _both _were honest.

Rob dropped his head on the rest. “Mostly I’m tired of trying to be in two places at once, neither for what I’m not sure Iwant anymore.” 

He slid his hand up to Rob’s neck, feeling the sleek muscles shift and slide under his palm. “Hawkins. _Rob—_” 

Rob shook his head and leaned over, his eyes suddenly fierce and direct. “No. Do you want _me,_ Jake Green?”

Jake felt a wash of fire race up his spine. “Yeah, I want you.” And he added, stumbling a little because he just realized what Rob was really asking—that he was asking if everything he was—if _all _that he was—was enough, “I mean, what about you? Do you want me?”

Rob closed his eyes briefly and laughed softly. “Yeah, Jake, more than you can imagine.” And his smile cleared, his face cleared and he held out his hand. “Come here.”

From zero to sixty, Jake’s heart stuttered, then jerked, pounding so hard he thought he could actually _hear _it. He slid from under the steering wheel, embarrassingly eager, and climbed over, knees on either side of Rob's hips. 

It was awkward and uncomfortable—his head and shoulders were mashed up against the car roof and his back was jammed up against the dash, but Rob, he was staring up, his eyes half closed and gleaming, looking at Jake’s mouth. He licked his lips and— 

And Jake groaned and dived down, practically falling on him, missing his lips at first because Rob had lunged up to meet him at the same moment. Jake choked on a laugh and tried again.

Rob’s mouth was dry and too damn closed and it wasn’t enough and Jake pressed harder, using his lips to coax, to encourage, and that was what he wanted—Rob, slick and wet, open to his lips and tongue. 

Rob groaned and thrust his hips up, pulling Jake to him. Jake shivered and pressed his whole body down, using clumsy hands to push Rob’s jacket open, not surprised to find the holster and gun.

He ran his hands over, under, the leather, remembering the day in Rob’s basement, the day he first met Robert Hawkins, CIA— not Robert Hawkins, FBI or even Rob Hawkins, concerned citizen—it had been thrilling, rousing, that back and forth as each tried for the advantage. And then Rob had taken Jake’s gun away in one smooth move, so fucking fast that Jake was on his back before he knew it—

Danger had always been a turn-on for him, _always, _and he knew he’d felt this same burning, that day in Rob’s basement, but instead of lying there on the cold cement floor, gasping in surprise, what if he’d just pulled Rob down with arms and legs and shocked the hell out of them both?

The invented image made his mouth water and he scrabbled at the holster, first with this fingers, then with his teeth, missing a little, biting Rob’s shoulder through cloth and leather and Rob growled, “Jesus, _Jake—”  _

Jake wanted to laugh weakly at the need in Rob’s voice, echoing his own, but it would come out wrong so he just stifled his breath on Rob’s throat and then…

…and then not, when Rob nosed his chin up, mouthing his way down Jake’s neck, his collarbone. When he got to Jake’s chest, he pushed up his t-shirt and found a nipple and tongued it, then bit, hard. Jake moaned and grabbed Rob’s jacket so violently the leather creaked and stretched.

_“Fuck,_” He whispered as he curled over Rob, breathing in the private, scent of heated leather, aftershave, and sweat. “Do that again.” Rob did it again and Jake wanted to cry out, but settled for twisting until he found the jut of Rob’s hip, and, yeah, there it was, just the right pressure meeting his cock and he rode, then again. He told himself to stop, that Rob couldn’t possibly enjoy being attacked like this, but it felt so fucking good, and—

“Jake.”

Jake ignored him and thrust again, holding onto the headrest, using it for leverage.

“Jake, stop…” Rob grabbed a fistful of hair and shirt and pulled him back. 

Wanting to growl, _'Christ, what?' _because he didn’t _want _to stop,Jake caught his breath and blinked several times, trying to focus.

“Back,” was all Rob said.

Jake didn’t question. He slithered between the seats and was dragging his t-shirt over his head by the time Rob joined him. His dog tags got tangled in the folds and Rob pulled his arms away, saying, “Here, let me…” and then he was free.

The chilly air made him shudder, made him ache for the heat of skin on skin and when Rob whispered a soft, _“Jake…” _and ran his hands down Jake’s arms and bent to kiss his shoulder, he leaned into the touch, rubbing wherever he could because the contrast of the cold air and Rob’s warmth made him crazy.

Holding tight to what little control he had left, trying to go slow, he pushed Rob back about an inch and tugged his jacket off. He folded it up and laid it in the front seat, then quickly unbuckled and removed the holster. He wanted to toss it to the front as well, but he knew Rob wouldn’t want it too far away, so he wrapped the straps around the holster and bent down, shoving the whole thing under the front seat. 

While he was down there, Rob leaned over and kissed his spine, whispering, “Maybe we shouldn’t get completely undressed, Jake. If something—” 

Jake sat up, pushing Rob against the seat. “No, it’s okay, no one comes here anymore. It’s okay.” He was almost pleading and he hated that, so he stroked the side of Rob’s neck and ran his hand down to lie over his heart. “I just want…” And he couldn’t say it—that this might be the only time and he didn’t want half-measures, didn’t want partial—he wanted _Rob_, naked, undeniably his_, _just in case this one night was it.

And Rob, he read something in Jake’s face that made his eyes go soft. He nodded and ran his thumb over Jake’s bottom lip and nodded, “Okay, it’s okay, we’ll…” Jake didn’t let him finish. He opened his mouth and sucked at Rob’s thumb, deliberately, as sexy as he could make it, and that was it for caution, restraint.

They got undressed.

Quickly and not efficiently because Jake’s hands fumbled with buttons and zippers and he’d never been less smooth, less in control. It didn’t seem to matter. When they were both naked, Jake with one leg already curled on the seat behind Rob because there wasn’t enough room, Rob pushed him back and looked him over with a shameless appreciation. Jake did the same. There wasn’t enough light but he got the general impression of lean muscle and skin lighter than he’d have thought. Promising himself the next time would involve a bed and a couple good lamps, he rocked back and pulled Rob on him.

And, yeah, the seat was too short, but he didn’t care—Rob covered him, _fit _onto him, and he moaned at the weight and feel of chest and cock, meeting his own. He brought Rob’s head to him and they traded kisses, over and over, hungry, serious. 

He shivered again—the vinyl was sticky cool but Rob wasn’t. He made a hollow for Jake, blocking what little light there was and a random thought flew by before Jake could stop it: if he couldn’t hide in his bed, at least he could hide like this. He made some noise, then ran his hands over Rob’s back like that could wash away the cowardly thought.

Rob touched his ribcage. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just–” ‘_Want this too much,’ _but he couldn’t say that, so he just kissed Rob again.

“Jake,” Rob whispered against his mouth, “if I hurt you, you gotta tell me, all right? You’ve been hurt too much lately.”

Jake shook his head. “I don’t want to think about any of that right now.” He made sure Rob got the picture by wrapping his leg around his hips and pushing up.

Rob’s breath hitched. “Jesus. All right, all right…” He pushed back, growling softly, “We won’t think.” 

Jake didn’t talk much after that except to say things like, _more_ and _there, _and finally, _fuck, fuck, _when Rob dragged him up against the door so he could reach Jake with his mouth.

And Jake held on as best he could, with his head and shoulders pressed against the glass, his feet braced on the seat and the floor. His fingers kept slipping on Rob’s short hair, his slick skin, and he tried not to claw, tried not to thrust. He came too soon, curled over Rob, dog tags stroking the back of Rob’s neck as the world turned black.

When he was able to breathe again, when he was able to move again, he slid down the door, down the seat to fall back. He reached blind and found his jeans, bundling them up to use as a pillow, then pulled Rob up over him and guided Rob’s dick into his eager mouth. 

He put his heart and his five-time experience into the blow job and for the first time he saw Rob at his most vulnerable, at his most helpless. He arched above, gripping the seat and Jake’s neck, panting out, _Jake, c’mon, that’s it, Jesus…_

Anyone, Jake thought as he squeezed the base of Rob’s cock, could take Rob now, could kill him dead—it would be beyond easy. But because he was here with Jake, nothing would happen to him. He was safe, _in _Jake.

And as if he heard Jake’s thoughts, Rob growled, “Jake, _wait_—” and he tried to pull out. Jake growled back and held on until it was too late and he was working on swallowing, not choking, remembering the Iraqi desert and how much he loved/hated the bitter taste of semen.

It was over. It took a long moment for Rob to pull out and when he did, Jake rubbed his jaw. Tomorrow he’d be sore in a few more places, but he could care less. He felt fantastic.

But Rob, he was still above, arms shaking with the effort not to fall and Jake moved up on the seat and reached with apologetic hands so he could catch Rob before he fell. With a deep groan, Rob lay down, saying “Sorry, sorry… Didn’t mean to make you do that.”

It took Jake a minute to figure that out and he said quietly, “What? No,” he stroked Rob’s back, “It was fine.” They didn’t quite fit this way either—Jake’s legs were all over the place and Rob was lying on a few tender spots, but he didn’t move. It was, as he’d just said, fine.

“Still…” Rob hitched Jake’s leg up so he could move up a bit. “It’s not healthy.”

“For either of us,” Jake reminded him. Like Jake’s health was more important than his own.

Rob kissed his shoulder. “We should probably talk about that.”

Jake shrugged. “I’m clean. I was tested when I got back to the States. You?”

“Always. Every month. We can’t afford to get sick.” And then Rob sighed and his voice lightened, “But never mind all that.” He stroked Jake’s hip and thigh, murmuring, “That was…”  

He shook his head and Jake smiled. For a man so good with words… “Me too. I didn’t hurt you, did I? I mean with the…” Jake ran his hands over Rob’s shoulders, feeling for any scratches.

“It would take a lot more than that to hurt me.”

“Superman,” Jake murmured into Rob’s hair.

Rob shook his head; his light beard scratched Jake’s chest. “Not always Jake, not when it comes to you, to my kids.”

Jake’s hands faltered. That was something he’d never expected to hear and it was too big an admission to take in—he’d think about it later, when he was alone. And not so out of it because his post-sex sleepiness was kicking in. He was almost weak from the sex, like he’d just spent all day working in the hot barn or gone for a long, long run, and he let himself go.

He was half way asleep, tracing a lazy path up and down the long curve of Rob’s back, when Rob kissed the center of his chest and pushed up on one elbow. “It’s late.”

That woke him up. “No it’s not.”

“Yeah it is, and I know for a fact that you’ve got to be at work in a few hours.”

Jake groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t remind me.”

“And I know for another fact that Jimmy has a stack of reports about five inches thick, just waiting for you.”

“You know a lot of facts, don’t you.” And before Rob called him on his comment, Jake added quietly, persuasively, “C’mon, we have a few more minutes.”

Rob paused, then smiled. “I guess we do.” He cautiously stroked Jake’s hair off his forehead, wrapping a strand around a finger.

Jake sighed. “I know, I know—I need to get my hair cut.”

“No you don’t.” Rob shook his head.

“You like it?”

“I like the way it’s going to be easier to grab you.” 

Jake smirked and rocked his hips up. 

Rob glanced down and grinned. “And no, not just for sex.” He looked up again and took a fistful of Jake’s hair, tugging gently. “It’s going to make it easier to grab you when you run off to do something stupid.”

Jake took Rob’s hand from his hair and pushed it down his chest, over his belly, to his dick. “You like my stupid.” He thrust up again and hissed when Rob tightened his hand and bent down to kiss him.

“Yes, Jacob Green,” he whispered against Jake’s lips, “even though that doesn’t make sense, I do like your stupid. I especially like how quickly you recover from a variety of things. Bad,” he bit Jake’s chin, “and good.”

Jake laughed, then gasped and arched his whole body because Rob’s fingers were smooth and rough and it was all he needed to get hard again. He covered Rob’s hand with his own and thrust into the combined heat. The second time, his orgasm was weaker, quicker, but no less good. 

And no less messy, he thought, as he saw the fluid decorating his stomach and Rob’s hand. He looked up and laughed outright at the expression on Rob’s face. He and Cheung were just alike. “Get my t-shirt.”

Shaking his head, Rob found Jake’s shirt and wiped him off, carefully, gently. “Next time, I’ll come prepared.”

Jake thought there should be a couple different puns in that if only he could make his brain work. He did, however, find the energy to do the gentlemanly thing by trying to help Rob on with his clothes. He was pushed away after a few minutes because Rob said he had busy hands and it was easier to do it himself.

Still grinning, Jake got out of the car and hopped on alternating feet while he pulled on his shorts and jeans, the chilly air making every hair on his body stand up. When he was done, he strolled out to stand in the middle of the dirt road. He looked around, at the trees, the rocks, the sky—it was so peaceful here, timeless and steady as if the war had never happened, as if his dad, Bonnie, and Gracie had never died. He swallowed and looked up. 

The moon had risen high above and its light made him squint. Two, no five days ago, he’d stared at the same moon, wondering if he'd be alive the next day.

He crossed his arms against the cold and sighed. Life was so weird, he mused as Rob came up behind and pulled him back. One minute you think you’re going to die, the next, you’re having the best night you can remember.

As if reading his thoughts, Rob kissed his shoulder blade and hugged him tight. “You did good that day. Even Cheung said so.”

“Yeah?” Jake said, absently, still looking up.

“Yeah.”

A breeze kicked in just then and the trees started to creak and sway to an invisible rhythm. Underneath that soft noise, Jake could hear the reeds rustle a similar tune. He laced Rob’s arms with his own. 

It had been too long since he felt this whole, this calm.

They stayed there a few more minutes, then Jake regretfully drew away and leaned in the car to get the rest of his clothes. He pulled on his boots but bundled up his shirt. He’d wash it when he got home. 

“Here.”

Jake turned. Rob was holding out his jacket, the one Jake had brought with him. He pulled it on, shivering at the feel of the leather on his bare skin. And then shivered again, this time at the look in Rob’s eyes. 

Without a word, they came together, no longer rushed. Then they pulled apart and got in the car.

The ride back was quiet. This time, Jake didn’t break forty and Rob sat next to him, close enough that he could rest his arm on the back of the seat and stroke Jake’s neck every so often. When they got the outskirts of Jericho, Jake waited for him to move over but he didn’t. He stayed where he was, kept his hand where it was, staring pensively out at the road in front of them. 

Jake wasn’t sure what that meant, the shameless closeness, but he’d enjoy it while it lasted. In any case, it was after one—there was nobody around, the streets were empty.

In contrast to earlier that night, when he turned the corner and pulled up in front of Rob’s house, he did so slowly, not wanting the night to end. He put the car in park and cut the engine. And then turned to Rob.

Who was still staring straight ahead and Jake could only imagine his thoughts. They hadn’t discussed what Rob was going to do about Darcy and the kids. They hadn’t discussed what was going to happen with Columbus. 

Hell, he didn’t even know if Rob was planning on staying in Jericho and the thought sent a jolt of surprise through his body. Why hadn’t he thought of that and how could he ask without seeming like a needy fool? He couldn’t just—

Rob turned and his blank expression changed, became tender. “If I kiss you goodnight, will you start up again?”

Jake made himself smile, but there was nothing false when he tilted his head and leaned forward until he was close enough to feel the heat of Rob’s lips. “Why don’t you try me?”

“Jake—” Rob chided, but he stroked his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and kissed him anyway, intent, thorough.

Jake put an extra effort into the kiss, using his lips and tongue to show Rob how much he’d enjoyed the night, how much he was going to miss him, even if it was just for a few hours. And, the stubborn part of him said, to show what _Rob _was going to miss if he did anything so stupid as to leave Jericho.

They separated slowly. Rob’s eyes were blank again and he stared at Jake as if he was memorizing every detail. “I don’t know what’s going to happen after this, but just hang tight and wait for me, all right?” 

Jake nodded. The words were cryptic but they were better than nothing.

Rob smiled and kissed him one more time, then got out of the car, his coat and harness over one arm. He shut the door gently and walked up the steps. He didn’t look back. 

Jake watched until he was in the house, then turned the ignition and pulled away from the curb. He drove the long way home.

It wasn’t until he was in his own bed, tired, happy, that he remembered he still had Rob’s jacket. He thought about getting in the car and returning it, but it was too late and he was too tired. He turned on his side, wrapped his arm around the pillow, and slept.

 

——————————

 

Rob locked the door, then flipped the deadbolt and fell back against the door. He was so damn tired. His legs felt weak and boneless, and his lower back was starting to hurt. He couldn’t decide if he was exhausted or elated. Most likely both, because he had a minor epiphany when he was braced over Jake, still trying to catch his breath, waiting for his mind to catch up with his body because even though it had been relatively basic, sex with Jake had been…

Rob closed his eyes and saw again, Jake, absurdly beautiful even with the bruises, up against the car door, every muscle in taut relief as he gasped and cried when Rob put his mouth on him. And the noises he made… _Christ, _did he even know he did that? Made those panting noises of want and need…

Rob bit his lip and screwed his eyes closed. He knocked his head back against the door, because he could still feel it, the rush he’d gotten from the simple act of going down on Jake, a surprise because blowjobs hadn’t ever been his thing.

And the way Jake gave back, the way he’d slid under, almost giving Rob a heart attack when he realized what he was going to do with that smartass mouth of his. 

There was no way Rob was strong enough for him—first the headstrong ways, now the sex that seemed custom-made to drive him crazy.

“I was about to send out a search party.” 

Rob started and didn’t clutch at his chest like a heroine from a bad movie though he wanted to. He craned his head and found Chavez on the sofa in the dark living room, stretched out like he owned the place. 

Chavez had refused to stay in Columbus when they’d returned the plane, when Rob told Charles that he needed to get back to Jericho for a day or two  He’d told Rob and Charles point blank that he wasn’t the man for meetings and conferences, _he_ was for everything else. And surprise, surprise, Charles had let them go, but only because they were liasoning with Beck in the meantime.

So, he’d come back with Rob and since then, he’d been like a ghost, coming and going at odd hours and Rob’d been glad that Darcy was gone—she’d had a hard enough time with _his_ erratic schedule.

Rob didn’t mind, though—he was used to Chavez by now. Besides, they weren’t going to be in Jericho for much longer—they had instructions to get back to Columbus as soon as he'd settled things with his family.

And that, he thought, was the rub. Darcy hadn’t returned any of his calls and when he went by Jimmy’s, she’d refused to talk to him. He didn’t blame her, but still—

He pushed away from the door and walked slowly into the living room. He fell into the chair and shrugged. “Yeah, well I’m glad you didn’t. They wouldn’t have found us.”

“Go far?”

“Outside of town.” 

Chavez grinned. “To lover’s lane?”

“Something like that.”

“Huh.”

He’d thought Chavez, nosy to the core, would ask how Jake was, but apparently, he was wrong. “Did you go see Cheung?”

“Yeah. When I got there, he was whining about being stuck in bed. He told me he was going to make a break for it. That nurse, Jake’s mom? She overheard and told him that if he didn’t stay put, she had a couple sets of handcuffs and she knew how to use them. You should have seen his face.”

Rob faked a smile. He’d met Gail Green on his way to Cheung’s room just yesterday and the look she’d given him, or rather, the look she _didn’t _give him? It was obvious she knew something. But what she knew, now that was the question. “I bet he didn’t make a break for it.”

Chavez shook his head. “No, he did not.” And then he hesitated and a catty smirk broke over his face. “So how was farmer boy?”

Apparently, Rob was right. He dropped his head back on the couch. “You know I’m not going to answer that.”

“A guy can try.”

“And another guy can say go screw yourself.”

Chavez put his hands behind his head and drawled, “Now, now—that’s not nice.”

“No, it’s not.” Rob scrubbed a hand over his face, over his hair. He needed a shower—he could still smell Jake’s scent and he couldn’t go to bed like that, not in the bed he used to share with Darcy. “Sorry. It’s just been a long week.”

“Then you’re not going to want to hear the latest.” 

Shit. Rob wasn’t sure he had enough energy for bad news. “What is it?”

“Apparently, your friend Mr. Smith is alive and well and has come out of his hidey-hole.”

It was the worst possible news. And the best. Rob sat up as adrenaline jump started his worn-out body. “Where and when?”

“You should add, _‘And with who,’ _because he got in touch with President Charles about two hours ago and Charles is furious that,” Chavez held up two fingers, “A, you didn’t warn him that Smith was planning anything, and B, you haven’t been returning his calls. He wants you and me back in Columbus, ASAP. Cheung’s supposed to follow, also ASAP.”

Rob got out his cell. The second after Jake had called, he’d turned it off—against standing orders and something he’d never done before. He thumbed it on and sure enough, the words, _‘8 new messages,’ _started flashing. “How would I know what Smith is planning? It’s not like we’re best friends.”

“Tell that to Charles.”

Rob tightened his lips as he read the messages. He shouldn’t have turned the phone off, but if it _had_ rang, he probably would’ve thrown it out the window, that’s how lost he’d been. “Okay,” he said as he pushed all thoughts of Jake from his mind as he stuffed the phone in his pocket, “so Smith resurfaces, for what? To make a deal, to threaten us, to threaten Cheyenne? He still wants to take down Jennings &amp; Rall, right?” It was a rhetorical question, but Chavez nodded anyway.

“So, how is he going to do it? The easiest way would be to convince Charles that any reconciliation attempts with J&amp;R would be fruitless, even counterproductive, and that a complete attack by the U.S., preferably nuclear, would be the only way to deal with them.”

“That’s assuming Charles wasn’t and isn’t in bed with J&amp;R.”

Rob shook his head. “I don’t think he is. Remember five years ago, when the Tomarchio wrote that bill to give a carte-blanche contract to Ravenwood?” Chavez nodded. “Well, Charles was one of the shadow opponents of the bill. He couldn’t officially vote, but he pressured enough of his colleagues that J&amp;R lost the contract. They made up for it in other ways, but they won’t have any love for him.”

“So if _you_ know about his sympathies, then—”

“Smith would know it, yeah. And based on his past actions, he’ll try to use Charles and force a U.S. attack, if he can. He must be pretty confident that Charles won’t throw him in jail on sight, but he’s always been one step ahead this whole time, so maybe he knows something we don’t. The only thing he didn’t plan on was you, me, and Jake.”

“Hmm.”

Rod nodded absently. There were so many ways this could go if Smith was still a player. He’d been in so deep with the CIA and Homeland Security that he could’ve set up a couple other schemes and they wouldn’t know about it until it was too late.

But…

Rob’s gut said, _no, _said that if Smith still had a hand to play, it would be weak, without teeth, and he would’ve already put it into motion.

The only way to find out would be to meet with the man himself, face to face, and that meant getting back to Columbus, tonight. He stood up, suddenly energized, eager to get going. “Hey, Chavez?”

“Yeah?” 

“Could you give me a minute? I need to call my wife.” _If she’ll talk to me, _he didn’t add.

“I’ll get our stuff together.” Chavez stood and left the room. 

Rob went to the closet, dialing as he walked.

Darcy picked up on the second ring. “Rob?”

“Hey, D.” Rob got his emergency overnight bag down and sat it on the floor to sort through it. He needed batteries, fresh water, and more energy bars but that was about it.

“It’s almost two in the morning.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry to call so late, but something’s come up and I figured you’d want to know.”

“You’re leaving,” Darcy said in a flat, colorless voice.

He zipped up the bag and threw it on the couch and hurried to the kitchen to get the batteries. “As soon as I can.”

“Columbus?”

“Hmm-mm. Chavez and I will be gone by morning.” He opened the utility closet and grabbed the pack off the shelf.

“Morning is in a few hours, Rob.”

“Well, this can’t wait.”

There was a long pause, then Darcy said, “Rob, I’ve come to a decision…”

“Yeah?” Rob tossed the batteries on top of the bag. The only thing left was the cash in the safe. He opened the basement door. 

“I need a straight answer from you.”

“Yeah?”

“This will never be over, will it?”

Rob stopped with his hand on the light switch, still thinking about the cash. “What won’t never be over?”

“You _know, _Robert.”

Her voice was cold and resolute and it jerked him out of his preoccupation. “No, probably not,” he said it steadily, feeling anything but steady. “Things will probably get worse.”

“I thought so.”

“D—”

“We’re leaving, me and the kids.”

It was insane, but of all the things she could’ve said, it was the last thing he’d expected. “Where?”

“To Columbus.”

“Columbus?”

“Yes.” There was a rustle and he pictured her getting out of bed to pace like she always did when she was nervous or angry. “I know it will be awkward, but my great aunt still lives there. I called her today and she wants us with her. We’re the only family she has left, and…”

Darcy trailed off and Rob knew what she wanted to add, _I need to get away from you._

Rob sat down on the top step. “All right D, if that’s what you want.”

“I can’t have what _I want_, Robert, so I’m going for what’s next.” She was crying and the guilt that Rob had been carrying for the past month bowed his shoulders. He was a son of a bitch and deserved everything he got, but his kids…

“Are you asking for a divorce?”

“Not now. It would kill Sam, and Allie wouldn’t handle it much better. But in a year or so, when they’re back to a normal routine, and they’ve forgotten you again, I’ll get in touch so you can sign the papers.”

Rob didn’t answer. The pain was coming—he could feel it traveling slowly, creeping like a thief along his nerve endings, heading straight for his heart.

“Robert,” Darcy said, her voice low and defeated, “however much you love us, I can’t give you want you want and you can’t give us what we need.”

Rob managed to say, “Me.”

“Yes, you, Rob—it’s that simple. There’s always going to be another mission, another person to save. And if you can’t give us _you_, then there’s really nothing else to say. I’ve just got to accept—” She broke off.

Rob nodded, even though she couldn’t see. “Do you want to come with me to Columbus?”

“No, just find a way for us to get there safely and quickly. I don’t think it will be good for Sam to see you right now.”

And that cut like nothing else, “_D—_”

“I know, Rob, but think of him. You think you’re so good at lying, but Sam has always seen through you, _always_. He’ll know something’s up. This way, it will be… business as usual.”

Rob nodded again and took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll see if I can get you a private plane.”

“Sam will like that.”

“Yes, he will.”

“If you’re still in Columbus after we’ve moved in, maybe I’ll call to see how you’re doing. Goodbye, Robert.” 

She hung up before Rob could respond and he sat there, staring blankly at the phone while it buzzed, then beeped at him. Finally, moving like an old man, he flipped the phone closed and got up.

Or tried to, because the grief that had been closing in caught him and he fell back. He gritted his teeth and wept as quickly, as silently, as he could.

He stayed there hunched over until he caught his breath, until his tears dried. 

“I suppose I don’t need to ask.” Chavez had come up behind him.

Rob shook his head.

“We still on?”

Rob nodded.

“Hey,” Chavez crouched down and put a hand on Rob’s shoulder. “Charles will understand if you need to stay here for a while.”

“No, he won’t. Besides, it won’t make a difference. They’re leaving.”

Chavez didn’t say anything and Rob was grateful. Darcy had finally had enough and he needed to be in Columbus—two simple, cruel facts of life. 

“All right.” Chavez stood. “Hey, do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Call Jake.”

“What can he do?” Rob asked dully.

“For such a smart guy, you can be such an fucking idiot,” Chavez said, almost savagely. And then he sighed and added calmly, “Maybe Jake will surprise you. Just do it. I’m going to call Beck.” He punched Rob’s shoulder and left.

Rob stared into the dark and tried to imagine what Jake could say that would make him feel better, what he could give that would ease the pain. 

There wasn’t anything he could think of, but he called anyway. Chavez would be pissed if he didn’t. 

Jake picked up on the first ring. “Hey.” His voice had that gravelly quality that it got after he’d been sleeping.

“Hey,” Rob croaked.

“What’s wrong?” Jake asked. “Is it the kids? Darcy?” 

Normally Rob would take it as a bad sign that someone knew him well enough to be able to read his tone so quickly, so accurately, but now? “Yeah, she’s…” He cleared his throat and tried again. “She’s leaving for good, Jake. She’s leaving Jericho and taking the kids.”

There was a long pause, then Jake said, “What can I do?”

And Rob hadn’t expected that, hadn’t been expecting anything other than the usual platitudes like, _I’m sorry, _or the more brutal, _Well, what did you expect?, _because Jake never pulled his punches.He pressed his forehead into the palm of his hand and said, “Nothing you can do, except…”

“What?”

It was impossible to ask. He’d asked it of Darcy and it had been too much. He’d asked it of Sarah and she’d betrayed him the first time he turned his back. But maybe Chavez was right. “I’m going to be gone, probably a while. I just need to know…” And he couldn’t finish—he was good at giving orders, he was good at doing for himself—he sucked at asking. 

But Jake, maybe Jake knew that also because he said firmly, “Yeah, of course. I’m not going anywhere, Hawkins.”

“You better not Johnston Jacob Green, ’cause—”

“’Cause you’ll find me?” 

Rob chuckled weakly at hearing his own words thrown back at him. It seemed a lifetime ago, that sunny day in Texas when he’d left that message on Jake’s cell. “You better believe it.” And somehow it was okay. Not good or even all right, but _okay_. However new and untested this thing was, Rob had something to hold onto when the pain came calling.

“Hey Rob?” Jake said softly, “I…” He stopped abruptly and Rob could almost see him looking down, see him running his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, Jake, me too.” It didn’t matter what it was that Jake couldn’t say, because whatever it was, Rob felt it too.

Jake hung up and this time Rob didn’t sit there and stare at the phone. He rose, turned on the light, and hurried down the stairs, already reviewing the steps he needed to complete to get the house ready for his absence.

He’d finished with the computers and was starting on the alarm system when he realized that Jake still had his jacket, the one he’d given him the night of the rescue. He picked up his cell and flipped it open, then paused and thought.

Jake still had a hard road ahead of him. The multi-level coordination of the legitimate government, the military, the militia, _and _the citizens of Jericho was going to be hell, especially since Jericho would be front and center in any possible conflict between Cheyenne and Columbus. 

Rob knew Jake was strong and resilient, knew he could take care of himself. But, maybe it would be good for him to have something of Rob’s. Something that would remind him of the miracle he’d brought about back in Cheyenne, something to keep him warm because Rob couldn’t be there to do it himself.

Rob nodded to no one at all, closed the phone, and went back to work.

 

——————————

 

Coda

“I know, girl,” Jake answered Kaibab’s soft whicker as he pitched the last forkful of hay into her trough. She was standing outside, loose in the barn, watching impatiently as he finished her stall. “You’re just going to have to have to hold your horses. I’m hurrying as fast as I can.” Her ears pricked up and she shook her head as if she didn’t believe him. He laughed at her as he leaned the pitchfork against the stall wall so he could scoop up the last of the hay into the trough with his hands.

He’d never used to be so careful. Something his father had given him no end of grief about and Jake could still hear his, _‘Jake, I was just in the barn—there’s good hay all over the place. You get away from that TV and clean it up. Now.’_ And yes, now he could appreciate the need for thrift because the cost of hay last time had been outrageous.

He picked up the fork and opened the gate, quickly jumping back as Kaibab hurried in. She wasn’t mean, like Kodiak was, but when she was hungry, he stayed out of her way.

He closed the gate and went over to the tack room and hung up the fork. He was tired. And sweaty. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead—even though it was barely June, it was too hot to be working so hard. He should have spent the night at the ranch like his mom had wanted, just to get an early start. But…

She was staying at the ranch as well, and even though she hadn’t brought up the _‘Hawkins situation,’_ as Jake was calling it in his mind, she was waiting for him to open up about it. It was there in the way she looked at him, talked to him, the little hints she threw out now and then.

It was driving him nuts.

When she suggested spending the night his excuse had been work. She didn’t say anything because in a way it was true—work was crazy, especially now that he and Beck were busy trying to find the soldiers houses and not tents, trying to figure out how best to use their talents. Then there were the increasing problems with New Bern, the hit and runs that never seemed to stop.

The only comfort, if it could be called that, were the conference calls with Columbus. They were a pain and sometimes boring because of the endless political strategizing, but Jake wasn’t going to complain. If nothing else, it meant he could talk to Rob on a semi-regular basis.

He missed Rob. More than he thought possible, even though he’d only been gone a little over two weeks. And even though they’d only had sex once, he was missing that as well. Every night before bed and usually when he woke, he replayed their one night together. 

He’d never jerked off so much in his life.

Luckily for him, his mom had been spending a lot of time at Bailey’s as she tried to get to know Mary. So, when he was home, he had the run of the house and the shower, but still…

He reached for General’s halter off the peg and went to find a cool place outside to work on it. He’d promised his mom two months ago that he’d get it fixed and she’d asked about it not an hour ago. He might as well get on it—the sooner it was done, the sooner he could get back home.

He was on the far side of the barn sitting on a overturned bucket when the horses began to stamp and call out. He didn’t pay attention, at first. He was fighting with the cheek strap, trying to get the needle through the stiff leather when heard it himself—a car, coming in a hurry up the drive. At first he thought it was Eric, driving too fast again, but no, the engine was loud, harsh. It was a military vehicle.

He jumped up, the halter forgotten, and hurried around the corner just as his mom came running from house. 

They met in the middle of the yard and waited for the Humvee to grind to a stop. Beck got out, and before he’d walked two steps, Jake knew something was seriously wrong. The last time he’d seen that grim face was right before he’d had a black bag pulled over his head.

His stomach clenched up and he grabbed his mom’s arm, dragging her behind him, just in case. 

But Beck wasn’t there for him—he took off his helmet, and tucked it under his arm, then dug a slip of paper out of his pocket. With a grim nod to Jake’s mom, he thrust the paper at Jake.

Jake took it like it was a bomb with a hair trigger and unfolded it. It was a transcribed note from Rob and it was short and simple. He read it, then read it again.

“Jake?” His mom touched his arm.

He looked down at her and swallowed. Her face changed and he thought how weird it was, that he’d only seen her truly afraid twice now. 

“No,” she said with a tiny shake of her head.

And Jake nodded and swallowed his own fear again, his throat as dry as the desert. “Yeah. It’s war.”

 

 

_fin._


End file.
